Authors: Heather Webber

Tags: #Fiction, #Contemporary Women, #Mystery & Detective, #General

Digging Up Trouble (17 page)

BOOK: Digging Up Trouble

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I wondered if Russ's autopsy had been done yet. It was horrible that I hoped the M.E. would find something. Anything that would exonerate me.

There were plenty of people who hated the man, wanted him dead.

Whoever Russ was blackmailing, for one.

Bill was high on that list too.

His employees hated him.

Noreen hated him.

Even Greta had motive if it was true about her horrible marriage.

Yet the prosecutor wanted to file charges against me.

Ridiculous.

I reached in my bottom drawer for a notepad and my breath caught at the sight of the Almond Joys.

The Almond Joys Bobby sent me weekly.

So far I'd done a good job not thinking about him, his job offer, even though I knew I had to at some point soon.

The phone rang, but I let Brickhouse answer. It was apparently what I was paying her for.

A second later her annoying voice came through the speaker on my desk. "Detective Quinn, line one."

"Thanks. I'll take it. Hey," I said, picking up the phone.

"Hey you. How you holding up?"

"Fine." Why was Kevin calling? Had he heard something? "Any word on the murder charges?"

I heard a gasp and yelled, "Hang up, Mrs. Krauss!"

One loud cluck and phone click later, I picked up the conversation.

"Brickhouse is working for you?" Kevin asked.

"Are you laughing? Because it's not funny."

"Is so."

"Tam hired her."

"Then she's staying."

"Pretty much."

"Good thing Tam's safe in the hospital."

"Pretty much."

Because I had to make a decision about Bobby, I asked, "How's Parsley?"

I'd caught him off guard. The silence on his end of the line was telling. "Fine."

It was also telling that he didn't correct Ginger's name, his usual habit. "You two still getting along?"

"You know how I feel about you, Nina. I made that clear already."

A while back he'd asked me, hypothetically, what would happen between us if he realized he'd made a big mistake in leaving.

Even though I still loved him, I hadn't been able to forgive him.

"And it didn't change things," he said, "so what's changed?"

I needed to decide about Bobby, that's what. Which meant that I needed to decide, once and for all, about Kevin.

Were we done? For good? Was I just hanging on to broken hopes and crushed dreams?

I wasn't sure. And I wasn't sure how to be sure.

Lord, I was beginning to suspect I needed motherly advice.

My confusion was that bad.

"Nina?"

"It's nothing."

"Sounds like something to me."

"Too much time at the range. Your hearing's going."

He grunted. "Stubborn."

"Why'd you call?"

"Russ Grabinsky."

"You have heard something, then."

"I haven't heard about the charges, but the M.E. just faxed over the postmortem results."

"And?"

"And they're still waiting for the tox screens to come back, so it's not a final report."

"But?"

He didn't lower his voice, so I assumed he was on his cell somewhere, safe from prying ears. "Heart attack. Ninety-five percent artery blockage. He was a walking time bomb."

"A time bomb. One that could be set off by a surprise makeover?"

"I'm sorry."

"So the prosecutor will probably file charges against me."

"I don't know. Nothing will happen until the toxicology reports come in. There could be something in there."

Could be. But probably not.

I sighed. "Thanks for letting me know. I know you're not supposed to be talking to me."

"I'll always do my best to protect you, Nina. You've got to know that."

Funny thing was I did.

After dropping Riley off at Growl, I drove over to the Fallow Falls neighborhood.

I pulled right into Greta's driveway, marched up the front steps, and rang the bell.

Coming here served two purposes. One was to avoid contact with Brickhouse Krauss at all costs. The other was to talk with Greta Grabinsky.

I wasn't leaving until I saw her. That was that. I had too much to lose if I didn't. She could sue the pants off me if she wanted, but I was not going to jail for something that wasn't my fault.

I rang the bell again.

Greta held a lot of the answers I wanted. About Bill and Russ, those accounting books, the HOA lawsuit, the person threatening her, about finishing the backyard.

Buzzing again, I tapped my foot. The pot of pansies on the front step looked pitiful, wilting in the sunshine.

Giving up on the buzzer, I rapped on the door. It opened on its own.

Immediately my defenses went up.

"Hello?" I called, pushing the door farther open with my elbow. "Mrs. Grabinsky? Greta?"

Don't go in,
my inner voice whispered.

The adrenaline drowned it out.

I stepped into a small hallway. The lime green linoleum was worn and cracked but looked freshly cleaned. I came to two doorways, one on each side of me. I went left. The living room.

I gasped. Where the room had been immaculate the other day, it was now as though a twister had swept through, upending and damaging everything in its path.

My gaze immediately shot to the small end table where just two days ago the accounting books had sat. The overturned table lay on its side.

I poked around as best I could without touching anything, but as far as I could tell, the accounting books were gone.

The sofa's cushions had been slashed open, stuffing spilling out of the wounds. The couch itself had been tipped, its underside ripped open.

Someone had been looking for something.

The voice from the other day, the one coming from Greta's kitchen, haunted me.

If he had them, you had them. And I want them back. Now.
Russ had no right to them and neither do you.

Had he finally given up on Greta giving the item back and resorted to taking it back? By force?

"Greta?" I called out.

I took another minute to look around the living room, at the broken face of the old grandfather clock, the old typewriter upside down on the floor, the old buffet cabinet turned on its side, its doors open wide.

The dining room hadn't fared much better. Whoever had been searching was careful not to break any of the good china.

How courteous.

A set of silver littered the floor. Nothing looked missing, though I supposed Greta would have to be the one to go through things piece by piece.

I felt myself getting angry for her. This kind of intrusion was such a violation of privacy and security.

"Greta?" I yelled.

Get out,
my inner voice yelled.

I listened, but only for a second. I couldn't leave until I knew if Greta was okay.

In the kitchen, the cabinets and pantry had been emptied onto the floor. The searcher was thorough. Even the flour and sugar canisters were dumped out—into the sink.

Trash spilled out of a plastic white can onto the linoleum. A brown banana peel, old newspaper, a take-out soup cup from Growl that still had mushrooms clinging to its insulated sides. Forest Mushroom? Mushroom Barley? There was also a Growl take-out bag, coffee grounds, and some wadded paper towels.

I quickly checked the back hall. More of the same destruction. But no Greta.

A brown rotary phone hung on the kitchen wall, and I told myself to call the police.

I headed for the stairs instead.

On the second floor the bathroom was a mess, drawers opened. I tried not to notice the everyday items of Russ and Greta's life. The toothpaste, the deodorant, razors, shaving cream, but couldn't. It smelled horrid in there even though the window was open. The scent of someone who'd been horribly ill. Lingering from Russ's bout with the flu?

The window looked out into the backyard, and from up there was a bird's-eye view of both the Lockharts' and the Hathaways' yards. I took a deep breath of clean air and hurried into the hall.

There were only two bedrooms. I went for the closest and pushed open the door. "Greta? Are you here?"

The first thing I noticed was that this room hadn't been searched.

The second was that Greta lay diagonally across the bed on her back, wearing the same frumpy housecoat she'd worn the last two times I'd seen her.

Only this time she was very clearly dead.

Eighteen

I'd been told not to go anywhere by the babyfaced officer first on the scene. Not that I could—his car blocked the end of the driveway.

Brickhouse had clucked when I called to cancel my one o'clock appointment. I hadn't told her why.

Officer Baby Face had informed me detectives would want to speak with me, and my stomach hurt really bad, so I had a good idea just who those detectives would be.

I sat on my front bumper and looked at the house. Russ had died of a heart attack. What had killed Greta?

I hadn't seen anything that would indicate she'd been murdered. No blood, no bruising. But it just seemed too coincidental that she'd die of natural causes during a burglary.

Who'd broken in?

I tilted my head, looked at the Lockharts' house. The accounting books were the only things I could say for certain were missing. And Bill had been looking for them.

I jumped to the conclusion and figured he'd taken them.

But why ransack the rest of the house? To make it look like someone else had done it?

The man from Greta's kitchen? That person would make a great scapegoat. How convenient that Bill had heard the man's threats.

And Greta? Had she gotten in the way?

I looked up. Uh-oh.

"You," Kevin said, approaching me. "Come with us."

"Us" included Ginger. My day just kept getting better and better.

Officers had begun roping off the house with crime scene tape. Kevin led me back to his car, an unmarked black Crown Vic with a long antenna on its trunk.

Ginger followed. She was tall, with long legs that reminded me of the spider in my window. Her hair was tied back in a long ponytail. She had beautiful wide eyes, full lips, a kind, caring face. If I were being truthful, she was gorgeous.

I hated that about her.

I sat there through thirty minutes of Kevin and Ginger's repetitive questions, trying not to compare myself to her. I told them over and over what I knew, what I saw. I even reminded them about Greta's visitor the other day. And I even told them about the missing account books.

That's me. Nina Colette Good Citizen Ceceri Quinn.

While I was at it, I shared my theory about why the Lockharts had hired me—to induce a heart attack on purpose.

Kevin didn't say anything at that, just arched an eyebrow.

Hmmph.

"Anything else?" he finally said.

"I told Riley I'd pick him up tonight, so you don't have to."

"He called."

Ginger wandered off.

Kevin looked over his shoulder, watched her go, then turned back to me. "What's with that call this morning?"

"You called me."

He stepped in. He smelled good. "You know what I mean."

"Nope."

"Nina . . ."

"Kevin."

"Are you having second thoughts?"

And thirds and fourths. I played dumb. "About what?"

"About us."

His sparkly green eyes lingered on my lips. It felt like the temperature had gone up a few degrees. I was suddenly sweating, and suddenly worried my deodorant wasn't strong enough, thanks to what Kit had said yesterday.

"Us?"

"Yes, us."

The divorce would be final in seven days. I put my hand on my stomach, but it didn't help the pain.

"You okay?"

"Fine." Maybe I'd call the doctor when I got back, see if she'd fit me in.

"When'd you last eat?"

I thought about it, figured it was those egg rolls last night. No wonder my stomach hurt. "I'm okay. Really."

With his finger, he lifted my chin. "I don't like what's going on here," he said.

"With us?"

He smiled. "I knew there was more to that call this morning."

I scowled.

"I actually meant with the Grabinskys. You be careful. Don't get any ideas about snooping. I know how you are."

"Yes, sir." My fingers were crossed behind my back.

As soon as he turned, I looked around for Kate Hathaway, found her at the edge of the gathering crowd. I just wanted to ask her a few questions before I left.

I was glad to see that she was alone, that Meredith wasn't lurking around anywhere.

"This is horrible," Kate said when she spotted me. "Who would do such a thing?"

"It could have been natural. You're always hearing about stories of people who've been married forever dying days apart. Of broken hearts."

"With a ransacked house?"

She had a point. Still, I hadn't seen any signs of a struggle inside Greta's room. And nothing on her body that suggested she'd been killed.

Actually, I'd been thinking about it, and it seemed more likely with those bathroom odors that she had gotten the flu going around and maybe died from that.

After all, Russ had had it. It would seem likely Greta would get it too. Maybe she had other health issues that made it too hard to fight the bug. I wished I had snooped through the medicine cabinet when I'd had the chance.

"Do the police think this was a random break-in? One of those home invasions?"

I could see her presidential wheels spinning. If there were a burglar in the neighborhood . . .

"I don't know." I had my doubts about the randomness of it all but kept them to myself, per Kevin's strict orders.

BOOK: Digging Up Trouble

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