Digging Up Trouble (19 page)

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Authors: Heather Webber

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

BOOK: Digging Up Trouble
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Or a cool, dry place like a storage closet?
my inner voice asked.
I told it to be quiet, because I should have realized that myself. I really hated being wrong.
The office door swung open, its hinges in need of WD-40. I held my breath, afraid Bill and Noreen could somehow hear me breathing. Despite the coolness, sweat trickled down the side of my head, tickling my ear. I rubbed it on my shoulder.
I heard a click, and light suddenly filtered through the cracks in the closet door as the overhead fluorescents in the office clicked and popped, giving me just enough hazy illumination to make out shapes.
When I started to see spots, I finally took a deep breath, but was suddenly overcome by the same claustrophobic feeling I experience when I scuba dive. I gave up holding my breath and opted for closing my eyes. I practiced Lamaze breathing again.
When it came time for me to have a baby, I'd be all set.
Babies. Bobby.
I gave myself a mental shake. This wasn't the time!
Leaning my head against the closet wall, I wished I hadn't given up on gymnastics when I was a kid. Flexibility and I didn't get along. My knees screamed, my back ached, and something dug into my back. A bracket for the shelves. My thighs tingled—the beginning of a Charlie horse.
I tried to flex my foot and nearly kicked the basket of mushrooms. I stayed put. What was a little pain?
I could handle it.
"Has anyone else been in here?" Bill's voice was so clear, so loud, he had to have been standing on the other side of the door.
"Not that I know of." Noreen's voice sounded strained, stiff.
What was she doing here? She must have been notified by the police that Greta had died. Wouldn't she be at the house? At the hospital where they'd taken the body for an autopsy?
Not that she could do much at either place.
"I, um, might have locked it."
Riley? I stiffened, and regretted it immediately.
I bit my lip against the pain of the Charlie horse and kneaded my thigh, trying to get rid of it, all the while wondering what Riley was doing with Bill and Noreen. Wasn't he working the register? How long had I been in the office?
Holding my watch up to a sliver of light, I realized I'd been snooping for fifteen minutes.
"When I came in to get, uh, some cash register tape earlier. My mom always makes me lock up when I leave the house. Habit. Sorry."
"It's okay," Bill said.
My mind raced. Had Riley just called me his mom? Had I been hearing things? Had I been sniffing too many fungus fumes?
His mom.
Tears gathered in my eyes, and I looked up, trying to keep
them in. Something taped to the underside of the bottom shelf near the mushroom barrels caught my eye. I squinted, trying to make it out.
I didn't dare move, but from where I was it looked like a manila envelope.
"What're you doing down there?" Bill asked.
"Tying my shoe," Riley answered. "Not so easy with this splint."
"Need help?" Noreen asked.
"Nope. Got it. Thanks."
"You need a ride home?" Bill asked.
"No, my mom's coming," Riley said.
There it was again. Mom.
My heart produced a weird warm and fuzzy feeling, and I basked in it for a second before I stiffened again.
I barely held in the
Owww
as my thigh spasmed. Tears did come, but it was from the pain, not any kind of lovey-dovey maternal feelings.
The spasm eased, the pain lessened, and I remembered why I had stiffened in the first place.
Riley. Lying. Not just about me not being there yet to pick him up, but about locking the door in the first place.
Why?
Did he somehow know I was in here?
How?
As quietly as I could, I felt my pockets.
No keys.
They were sitting on the floor next to Bill's desk!
Right near where Riley had "tied his shoes"? I hoped so.
"I think I'll just go get something to eat while I wait for her."
Ewww. Eat something? From here? Had I taught that boy nothing?
"You need to call her?" Bill asked.
"No, she's usually late. I'm used to it."
Hmmph.
Footsteps faded.
"Get some rest, Noreen. Take as much time off as you need."
Maybe Bill wasn't such a bad guy after all.
"I'm just going to grab my purse and go. I ran out of here so fast this afternoon, I forgot it."
"I'm really sorry about Greta."
"Me too." Noreen's voice cracked, and I felt my throat tighten with sympathy.
I heard some rustling of clothes and imagined Bill giving Noreen a hug.
"Call when you're ready to come back. I'll put you on the schedule."
"All right."
I heard papers shuffling, then a cell phone ringing. I panicked until I realized it wasn't mine. Mine was in my backpack, and that was in the truck.
"Lockhart . . . Yeah, tonight's fine. My supply is really low." He laughed. "Yes, business is good, especially now that Russ is out of the picture."
There went my opinion of Bill, once and for all. Okay, so it wasn't an admission that he'd had something to do with Russ's death, but it was clear enough he'd wanted Russ gone.
Enough to formulate an elaborate plan to give the man a heart attack?
I listened to Bill make arrangements for something to be delivered that night. I thought I heard him leave the room, but couldn't be sure.
How would I be sure? I couldn't see through the cracks in the door frame. I certainly wasn't Superman. Woman. Whatever.
I decided to stay hidden until I hadn't heard Bill for ten minutes.
My thigh throbbed and I desperately wanted to move, to readjust. Then my eye caught that envelope again.
I wiggled slowly, trying not to make a sound, and reached for the envelope. It took some doing, some praying, and lots of patience, but I finally freed it.
A metal clasp bit into my finger as I lifted the flap. Inside were two business-size envelopes. I pulled them out, held them each up to the streak of light.
Each said the same thing in a strange typed font. "Bill Lockhart. Personal."
My eyebrow went up. Interesting.
There was no way I could read the letters without making a ruckus, so I did the next best thing.
Stole them.
Really, I had to talk with Father Keesler soon.
It took more patience than I thought I had, but I finally got the manila envelope back where it had come from, and stuffed the two other envelopes down my shirt, which was thankfully tucked in.
After exactly ten minutes by my trusty Timex, I pressed my ear to the door to listen for noise just as it swung open. I fell out in a ball onto someone's feet, my limbs not realizing they were free.
I looked up into accusing eyes.

Twenty

"You can stop saying sorry," Riley said, climbing into my TBS truck, "and start telling me why you were in Bill's office in the first place."
"When does driver's ed end? Maybe we can look at some used cars." I held out my hand for my keys. Sure enough, Riley had them. He dropped them into my palm.
"Don't try to distract me," he said. "What were you doing in Bill's closet?"
This was surreal. Grilling
from
a teenager.
"Research," I said. "On mushrooms."
He stared.
He did it well.
I cracked. "I was looking for something."
"What kind of something? Does this have to do with Ebenezer's death?"
Did it?
"I don't know."
I started the engine, turned toward home.
"I bet Dad would want to know what you were doing in that closet."
I shot him a
you wouldn't
look.
He gave me an
oh yes I would.
"Go ahead and tell him."
That took him by surprise. Little did he know I had a greater fear of being blackmailed by him than facing Kevin.
Mom.
I wondered now if he'd said it as a ploy. That he knew I'd been in the closet and it was his way of telling me he knew I was in there.
Because it was just so out of character.
And . . . familial.
As I turned toward home, I decided not to ask. Too des perate.
"Well, did you find it?"
"No."
But I'd found something else. Those letters. I hoped they were worth the pain. My legs were still cramping.
"Why'd it take you so long to come get me?" I asked.
"I figured you'd come out when Bill left."
"I didn't know for certain if Bill had left! One minute he's on the phone making plans for a delivery tonight, and the next thing I know it's quiet. Is he doing paperwork? Napping? I couldn't just come out."
"A delivery tonight?"
"That's what I heard. Why?"
"We only get deliveries in the morning. That's strange."
That was strange.
These last few days had been strange.
"Maybe mushrooms?" I said. "It looked like there was a barrel missing from that closet."
There was an odd look on Riley's face. "Maybe."
"What maybe? Do you know something?"
"Maybe."
"Riley Michael."
"Nina Colette."
I growled.
He glared.
This was getting us nowhere.
"You tell me what you were doing in that closet, and I'll tell you what I think I might know."
I said, "This isn't
Let's Make a Deal.
"
"That was a cool show—I watch it on the Game Show Network. I wish it were still on. I'd go as a banana."
"Now you're trying to distract me."
"Maybe."
I turned onto my street and nearly crashed into a tree, I was so distracted by what was in my driveway.
A Dumpster.
With my bathtub in it.
"Looks like Grandma Cel has been busy."
I parked at the curb, behind Maria's Mercedes.
As I opened my car door I caught sight of Mr. Cabrera and Boom-Boom speeding down the street in her golf cart. She braked to a stop in my driveway behind the Dumpster.
"Having some work done, Miz Quinn?"
"I guess so, Mr. Cabrera."
"Need help?"
Maybe of the psychiatric kind, but I didn't think that's what he had in mind. "Maybe. I'll let you know."
Boom-Boom stood with Riley, inspecting his arm. I walked over to them, and she said, "I really am sorry about this."
"He's no worse for the wear," I said, wondering if that was a cliché. I decided not. I'd had a rough enough day already.
"I'm not sure if I should be insulted by that or not," Riley said.
Mr. Cabrera clapped him on the back. "Or not."
"When are you guys coming to Growl? Remember, dinner's on me."
"I couldn't," Boom-Boom tittered.
I didn't think it was possible to titter, but it was. And she did.
"Come on, you have to. I promised. And I never break my promises."
Unlike his father. Which got me to thinking about Kevin. And Bobby.
I missed him. Bobby, that is. Not Kevin. And I'd just seen him last night. Bobby, not Kevin.
What did this tell me?
"When are you working again?" Mr. Cabrera asked.
"Wednesday night. Five until closing at ten."
"We'll be there. It's a date."
Boom-Boom giggled and clasped onto Mr. Cabrera.
I couldn't help myself. "Did Riley tell you, Mr. Cabrera?"
"Tell him what?" Riley asked.
"That Mrs. Krauss is working for me temporarily? While Tam is out on leave?"
The color drained from Boom-Boom's face.
"How could I have told him that?" Riley asked. "I'm just now— Ow! Why'd you step on my foot?"
"Did I?" I asked. "Sorry."
"Ursula's okay, then?" Mr. Cabrera's blue eyes held a hint of worry.
"Of course she's okay," Boom-Boom trilled. "Old battleaxes like that never die."
My eyebrow arched. Riley's mouth fell open. Mr. Cabrera disengaged Boom-Boom's arm from his.
"I, er, mean that in the nicest possible way."
"Of course," I said.
"Nee-nah! You're home. You've got to see the plans."
Oh Lord. Maria.
I crossed the lawn. "Plans?"
"For your bathroom. What's that in your shirt? Really,
Nina, I could give you the name of a good plastic surgeon. You don't need to stuff. How . . . adolescent."
I growled and pulled the envelopes out of my shirt.
"Do I want to know?" Maria asked.
"No."
"Okay, then. Come see the plans. They're gorgeous. Just gorgeous."
I stopped dead in my living room. The ceiling where the dining room used to be before Aunt Chi-Chi renovated now had a very large, very gray stain in it. One that dripped onto a large tarp covering my hardwood floor.
"Minor," Maria said.
"Really?"
"Not to worry."
Oh, I was worried.
"Come, come. Come look."
"I need a minute." To . . . regroup. Maria wasn't happy with the delay. She pouted.
The phone rang as I passed it, heading for the back door. The caller ID listed a toll-free number. Telemarketer. I didn't answer, but it did remind me that I hadn't checked my cell lately.
I tracked it down, took it and Bill's letters out to Mr. Cabrera's gazebo.
The ivy he'd started up the sides of the gazebo had taken off, nearly reaching eye level. I'd convinced him to plant it, even though he hadn't wanted to. When I pointed out how rude it was to spy on others, he'd reluctantly put it in. But I noticed he kept trimming it back.
My voice mail had three messages. The first one was from Bobby, who told me he would be out of town for a few days, working on a hundred-year-old house near Columbus. Lots of scraping and prep work, so he'd be staying in a hotel up there. It would give me time, he said, to think about what he'd said.

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