Trouble In Bloom (11 page)

"Poker?" I couldn't help but think of Riley.

"High-stakes," she said.

She was sprightly, that Pippi. I had to fast-walk to keep up with her. We followed her into a large game room. A poker table sat in the center, and a handsome man and two women were seated there, mounds of peanut M&Ms piled in front of them.

Now those were my kind of stakes.

Pippi made introductions while Nels filmed. Monique Umberry was seventy, if a day, and must have been a heartbreaker when younger since she was still gorgeous, with healthy blonde hair, fair skin, brilliant green eyes. Mr. Um berry looked every inch of Clark Gable and fit the role to a T, complete with red satin ascot.

Next to him sat Minnie Baker, her big blue eyes somewhat blank, but her full cheeks rosy with health. Her wheelchair was barely noticeable beyond the fl owing silk robe I noticed she wore after I tore my gaze from her turban, complete with giant ruby. A huge square cut diamond sparkled from her right hand. It had to be ten carats at least.

Pippi said, "This is Nina Quinn, the designer I told you about. She'll be working on the atrium tomorrow."

"Painting, correct?" Monique asked me.

I was a great liar. "A mural."

"I swear I've heard your name before," William said.

"Because I told it to you the other day, silly," Pippi said quickly. "When I explained about the camera crew being here."

"Ah yes.
Hitched or Ditched,
" Monique said. "We watch it all the time. It's one of Pippi's favorites. Missed it last night, though—the cable went out." She popped an M&M into her mouth.

I noticed Pippi's sly smile. She'd told me all about her plan for the cable to "happen" to go out around 10:55 every night—so the residents wouldn't learn of my profession via HoD.

Monique set her chin in the palm of her hand as her elbow rested on the table. "Is that Thad Cochran as handsome in per—"

"Yes," Nels, Roxie, and I said at once.

Pippi laughed, color rising to her cheeks. "I'd love to have one steamy night with that man." She sighed. "The dreams of a lonely old woman."

"Oh stop now," William said dryly. "You're making me blush."

They all laughed. If they only knew that Thad might be up for Pippi's proposition.

The lot of them didn't appear to be too grief-stricken by the death of a fellow resident. Since I lived in the Mill, which was highly comprised of a geriatric demographic, I wasn't alarmed. There apparently was a strange phenomenon in the older set where death was concerned. It became everyday. Commonplace. It was . . . accepted, I supposed. Certainly not something to fear, and certainly not something to dwell on. Life went on, and most of the older people I knew loved living it to the fullest.

Minnie studied us. "Who are you?" she asked, her voice hesitant.

Pippi bent down next to her chair, took Minnie's hand in her own. The huge diamond ring glinted from Minnie's ring finger. Pippi introduced us again, and I caught the fl ash of sadness in her eyes.

Minnie said, "Oh. Oh yes."

Alzheimer's?

"We should go," I said, checking my watch. "We'll let you get back to your game."

Blinking, Minnie twisted her ring. She looked up at me, caught my eye. "Who are you?"

"I'm Nina," I said. "But I really need to get going." I patted her hand. "Enjoy your game, Minnie."

As we left the room, I heard William and Monique explaining to Minnie that they were playing poker.

Pippi led us down the stairs, and I admired how she didn't apologize for Minnie. That kind of respect was hard to come by.

My phone rang and Pippi laughed aloud, apparently recognizing the song. I was going to kill Ana.

"Sorry," I said to Pippi after seeing the TBS number. "I need to get this."

"Go on," she said, waving a hand.

I stepped to the side and answered. "This is Nina."

I heard clucking. "What's wrong with Tam?" Brickhouse asked.

"Nothing's wrong with Tam," I said.

"What's this about needing to talk to your mother about her?"

I ran my hand along the walnut banister. "Did my mother call you?"

"Ach, why would she do that?"

Her voice was too high, too innocent.

"Because she's avoiding me."

"Why?"

"Something about construction workers and picketers."

Over my shoulder I heard Roxie ask, "How many people live here?"

Pippi said, "Seven, and we have a full-time staff of ten."

"Look," I told Brickhouse, "tell my mother to call me. I've got to go."

"But—"

I hung up. "Sorry," I said again.

Pippi led us down the stairs, telling us all about the original artwork on the walls, works she'd collected over the years.

On the ground floor we spotted a young woman in a tight-fitting business suit and three-inch heels hurrying away from us, down the long hallway leading to the kitchen at the west end of the house. Long red hair streamed out behind her.

Pippi watched her go but didn't explain who she was.

"Who was that?" Roxie asked.

I was beginning to like Roxie a lot.

"Just one of our . . . therapists. Perhaps you'll meet her tomorrow."

A buzzer sounded—the front door. Pippi crossed to the door. "This would be the gentleman I told you about earlier," she said to me. "The one who used your name as a recommendation." She pulled open the door.

I froze.

"Nina?" he said.

"Bobby? What are you doing here?"

Roxie motioned furiously to Nels, who hefted the camera onto his shoulder.

Bobby, I finally noticed, wasn't alone. "You remember Nina, Mac?"

Mac was tall like Bobby, but time had put a hunch in his back, and his injury had put a limp in his step. His bright blue Irish eyes shone with intelligence.

"I'm not senile," Mac griped, leaning in to kiss me. He grabbed my arm to steady himself.

He aimed for my lips, but I moved just in time so his kiss landed on my cheek.

"So you do know each other?" Pippi asked.

"Yes. Pippi Lowther, meet Bobby MacKenna and his grandfather, Patrick MacKenna."

"Call me Mac," he said, kissing Pippi's hand. "I hope you don't mind me using your name as a recommendation, Nina."

"You did what?" Bobby's gaze shot to mine. He hadn't known anything about it.

"It's all right," I said. "But how'd you know I was working here?"

"Word gets around." He winked.

Now I knew where Bobby had gotten it from. "It shouldn't," I said. "That's the whole idea of the surprise."

He leaned in, whispered, "Your mother is quite proud of your work."

I rolled my eyes. She was a blabbermouth, that's what she was.

Mac had completely charmed Pippi. Pink tinged her cheeks, and she smiled brightly. I wondered if I should tell her about his penchant for touching.

Probably she'd learn soon enough.

"Pippi, Bobby is my, ahem, boyfriend. My partner on
Hitched or Ditched
."

"Oh! How exciting!" Pippi looked around. "Where's your camera crew?"

"In the car. They didn't think anything exciting would happen in here," Bobby said.

I caught Roxie and Nels high-fiving. This would certainly be a coup for them.

"You're thinking about moving in here?" I asked Mac. I leaned in to Bobby. "Can he afford that?"

Bobby shrugged.

"Well, we should leave you to your tour, then."

I looked at Roxie, who was looking at Bobby and me expectantly.

Standing on tiptoes, I kissed Bobby's lips. He pulled me in close, anchored me against his chest and planted a kiss on me that curled my toes.

Whoa.

"Gets it from me," Mac boasted, shaking his cane.

Pippi fanned herself.

I needed a cool-down myself.

"I'll see you tonight," Bobby said with a wink.

Ohhh, that wink
. It did things to me.

"O-Okay." I tried to walk, but my legs were still Jell-O.

Outside, I drew in fresh air, wished I had something chocolate to eat. One of those peanut M&Ms. Something.

I'd started the truck when Nels said, "Anyone else get a strange vibe in there?"

"Vibe?" I asked.

"Like something hinky is going on?"

"Yeah," Roxie said. "It's like the Stepford Inn."

"Exactly." Nels cleaned the camera lens. "Why's everyone so happy? Didn't someone just die?"

"Even still." I put the truck into Drive. "Wouldn't you be happy if you lived there?"

"What if Pippi Longstocking is giving everyone happy pills? Taking all their money?"

"Little Pippi?" I asked, shocked.

Roxie slumped back. "I guess you're right. She was too sweet to do anything evil."

"Hah!" Nels said. "I bet the east wing really leads to a secret laboratory . . . "

Roxie perked up. "There's one way to find out."

"No!" I said. "No snooping tomorrow. Lowther House is high class. Think old money country club. There's no secret labs, no happy pills being doled out. It's just a nice place to grow old."

"And die," Nels said.

Nels was really starting to get on my nerves.

"Yeah," Roxie perked up, "do we really know what happened to that poor old Mrs. Goldwin?"

"You two, stop." I turned onto 63. "There will be no snooping. Not so much as a voiced suspicion. It's my company and my reputation at stake if you two upset Pippi. I'm liable for you two. So behave yourselves tomorrow."

They both agreed, but I didn't believe them for a second.

I skipped out of work early and let everyone else go home too, since everything was set for the mini at Lowther House the following day. Our schedules were often topsy-turvy, so we had to take time off when we could.

I headed home hoping to catch up with my mother. Any other day she would have been at my house, overseeing the construction. With the picketers, I doubted any construction was going on today.

Flipping on the radio, I realized the old me would have been angry with her. Okay, so I wasn't thrilled construction had been delayed . . . again. But the new me was easygoing, care-free. Zenlike.

Note to self: Look up Zen ASAP.

"Do You Wanna Dance" played on the oldies station, and I sang along until I realized I always listened to the oldies station.

Impulsively, I turned the dial. The car thumped with the bass of a rap song. I listened for a minute before changing it. The new me could only handle so much. I stopped on a pop station. Someone was singing about the pain of breaking up. It hit a little too close to home. Another spin of the dial and I landed on the local country station. I stopped, listened. A man was singing about tequila and how it made "her" clothes fall off.

This had potential.

I liked tequila.

Could use some, as a matter of fact.

Wouldn't mind my clothes falling off with Bobby around.

No, no, no!
Wrong.

Still, tequila sounded good. The old Nina would never drink at three-thirty in the afternoon, but the new me? Why not?

As I drove along, I thought about Deanna. Should I call her? I hated leaving things as they were. I just wished she'd given me the chance to explain about Weekend Warrior. But that wouldn't have changed the fact that she'd already set up another interview . . .

I sighed.

My thoughts switched over to
Hitched or Ditched
. I hadn't seen last night's show and didn't know if I wanted to. Probably, I did. I know Riley had taped it for me—maybe I'd watch it when I got home. Alone. With my tequila.

Sounded like a plan.

If I turned into a lush, it would be all Josh's fault. Him and his crazy plan. From what I'd seen so far, sexual harassment wasn't all that far-fetched an accusation. Not that anyone had hit on me, but there was enough hanky-panky going around.

Had I just said hanky-panky?

Note to self: Stop watching reruns of the
Newlywed
Game
on the Game Show Network.

I hadn't seen even the barest hint of impropriety from Willie toward his staff. Now, with Sherry—that was a whole other deal. One I shouldn't worry myself about.

Who they slept around with was their issue. Not mine.

Mine was finding out about the sexual harassment.

I held the wheel with one hand, flipped open my phone

and dialed Josh's number with the other. It rang twice before switching to voice mail.

"Josh, it's Nina. I just wanted to talk to you about Jessica. If you could give me a call, I'd appreciate it."

Snapping the phone closed, I wondered when I'd hear from him.

I left the radio dial on the country station and felt my eyebrows dip as I turned onto my street. Cars lined both sides, and I had to park four houses down, in front of Mr. Weatherbee's place. I'm sure I'd hear about that later. He hated anyone parking in front of his house, despite the street being public property.

Walking back toward my place, I stopped short next to the maple tree at the edge of my property, trying to take it all in.

The Dave Matthews Band blasted from speakers set up on my front porch. A buffet table had been set out on my front lawn. The two picketers had their signs propped on their shoulders. They each held plates loaded to their plastic edges. Several other men wearing hard hats, jeans, and thermal long-sleeve T-shirts standing on the other side of the table joked, laughed, and chowed down. All around, residents of the Mill joined in, laughing, eating. I spotted Mrs. Daasch doing the cha-cha with the foreman of the construction crew.

It was an all-out block party.

At my house.

Screw Zen.

I was gonna kill my mother.