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Authors: Heather Webber

BOOK: Trouble In Bloom
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Eleven

Ana held up a pretend microphone and gleefully asked, "Which best describes Bobby's experience in the kitchen? Lukewarm, simmering, or boiling hot, hot, hot?"
I poured a glass of ice water. The studio had provided a little buffet table with cheese, crackers, fruit, and refreshments. Little did Ana know about the time Bobby and I had tried our hand at cooking together . . .
It was definitely in the scorching range.
"Stop," I said to her, taking a sip of the water, hoping for a cool down.
"Come on. These are questions that could be asked."
I prayed she was wrong. Questions like that tended to remind me of all I was resisting.
My stomach rolled. Maybe I should have eaten. Yeah, it had to be lack of food. Not the reminder that I'd made a horrible mistake letting Bobby move away. I grabbed a cracker, popped it into my mouth.
"Where is he, by the way?"
I spoke around the cracker. "Who?"
"Bobby!"
"Oh, I don't know." He wasn't there. I knew that imme diately when I walked into the studio. That sizzle wasn't in
the air. The zip, the zing I felt whenever he was around.
"What kind of fiancée are you?"
I gave her the evil eye. She laughed.
"Where's Carson?" I asked.
Ana adjusted the spaghetti strap of her barely there satin tank top. "Interviewing the production assistant," she said, pointing.
Ah. Louisa. The one who had the hots for Bobby.
I hated her, and didn't care that I did. The old me would have cared. The new me was making progress already.
I stabbed a cube of cheddar with a toothpick, popped it into my mouth, chewed and swallowed. "Where are you two going later?"
"Down to All Shook Up, the martini bar?"
How could I forget? I'd had an interesting experience there with Elvis impersonators.
"Then," she smiled, "who knows?" Her perfectly shaped eyebrows waggled.
"Oh, I think you know."
"I hope I know." She bit into a strawberry.
The set was still dark, and I'd yet to see Thad or Willie or even Genevieve. I didn't expect to see Sherry tonight, but who knew? Perry and Mario were also MIA, but it was early yet. Ambient light cast an eerie glow as we stood around, waiting for things to get under way.
The Channel 18 cameraman lowered his camera as Carson and Louisa shook hands and headed our way. Carson put his arm around Ana's shoulder, kissed her cheek. She looked up at him with adoration.
Yuck.
Louisa said, "Is Bobby not here yet?"
I wondered how she'd like a toothpick to the eye. "Not yet," I managed to say rather sweetly. But couldn't help adding, "He was still in the shower when I left."
I was right proud of my lie until she said, "You didn't drive together?"
Damn. I really hated her.
Ana tore her gaze away from Carson. "Separate cars. They aren't glued at the hip, you know."
Louisa looked like she wanted to argue, but decided against it.
Smart girl. A protective Ana was a dangerous Ana.
"Who are the suits?" Carson motioned with his head.
Three men in impeccable suits had walked into the room with Willie Sala.
"Network executives," Louisa said. "Surely you heard they'd be in this week? The deal to take
Hitched or Ditched
national is all but done."
Carson took out his notebook. "Why hadn't I heard about this? This is news! Big news!"
He was so excited I thought one of his veneers might pop off.
Louisa added, "Friday's the day they're supposed to sign the contracts."
Friday was shaping up to be a busy day for a lot of people.
Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Willie excusing himself from the group. He headed straight toward us, smoothing down the five measly stripes of hair on top of his head.
"Louisa," he said in a loud whisper, motioning her over.
Clipboard in hand, she hurried to his side.
Perry and Mario came in, holding hands. "What's going on?" Perry asked, referring to Willie's impromptu powwow.
"Don't know."
We eavesdropped as Willie, who may have been whispering, but his voice carried, said to Louisa, "Where's Genevieve?"
Louisa shrugged. "I don't know, sir."
Perry leaned in. "What I would do to buzz that combover off his head."
"Hideous," Mario agreed.
Willie's fists clenched. "She's supposed to be down here, schmoozing. Find her now!" he demanded.
Louisa scurried off. I looked around for Thad. No sign of him either. I thought I should probably tell Louisa to look in Willie's office bathroom for Genevieve, and that she'd probably find Thad in there too, but kept quiet. None of my business, I kept reminding myself.
"I need to go call my producer about this deal in the works," Carson said, tucking his notebook back into his jacket pocket.
Ana latched onto his arm. "I'll come with you."
He smiled, a thousand watts at least, and led her away.
"They'll be the cover story in the next
SoSceCinci,
" Perry said.
SoSceCinci
, aka
Social Scene Cincinnati
, was the town's social, entertainment, and gossip paper, a weekly. Maria, my sister, an event planner, raved about the paper, especially since they loved to photograph her at her various events.
I tried to imagine how Ana would like the publicity. I quickly decided I should just go out and buy her a scrapbook—she was going to love the attention.
"When do you want to do our shopping trip?" Perry asked me. "You need new clothes in a desperate way."
"What's wrong with this?" I wore a classic black dress, nicely cut. It fit all the right places and hid all problem areas.
"My grandmother wore that same dress to my grandfather's funeral," Mario said. "In 1988. And I don't know much about clothes, that's Perry's thing, but I know you don't look so good."
Okay, that sealed it. Pulling out my day planner from my backpack, I looked at Perry. "When, exactly, is good for you?"
Perry wasn't listening. He was staring. "Well, hi-ho, silver! He looks hot tonight."
My skin danced. I didn't need to look over my shoulder to know who he was talking about.
Mario fanned his face. "You're not kidding. Nina, you're one lucky girl."
Bobby's hands settled on my shoulders, and his kiss lingered on my cheek. "Miss me?"
Mario and Perry watched us closely.
"As always." I tucked my day planner away and slipped my arm around his back. So natural, so easy. So contrived for Mario and Perry's sake.
Sneaking a peak, I saw Bobby wore dark trouser style jeans, scuffed loafers, a blue button-down, sleeves rolled up. Hi-ho, indeed. Hot didn't even come close.
"Who died?" he asked me, fingering the sleeve of my dress.
Perry opened his mouth.
"Ah-ah! Not a word," I warned. "We'll be right back." I pulled Bobby aside, stepping over wires, dodging hulking cameras. Someone ought to turn on the overhead lights, I thought, before somebody got hurt. "You don't like the dress?"
"Not really. Now, you out of it . . . "
Outwardly, I ignored his comment, but inwardly I was melting. "How's Mac?" I asked.
Bobby grinned—I assumed at my abrupt change of subject. His dimple popped out, and I fought the urge to kiss him. "Settled in front of the TV for the night," he said. "Watching a
COPS
marathon."
"How'd things go at Lowther House?"
"Great." His brows dipped.
"What?"
He hesitated. "Nothing."
"Does Mac have that much money?"
"Apparently he's been saving."
There was something in his tone. "What did Mac do for a living before he retired?"
"Long story."
The lights finally came up on the set, and I spotted Louisa rushing into the room, her cheeks fl ushed. Willie stepped away from the execs, leaned close as she whispered into his ear.
"What's going on there?" Bobby asked.
"No one can find Genevieve."
Smirking, he said, "Did they check Willie's office bathroom?"
"My thoughts exactly."
Willie's gestures were short, controlled. It was obvious by the strain in his face he was trying not to get angry in front of the network people.
"I spoke to Josh today," I said.
"You did?"
"Apparently there's a settlement in the works for Jessica."
"He's not the most savory of characters, but he's a good lawyer. He'll get her a good deal."
He'd totally missed the point. "A settlement means we didn't have to do this show."
His dimple came out as he smiled. "What? You're not having fun?"
Grrr
.
"Just look at all the time we get to spend together this week," he said, moving in close.
I inhaled, smelled that soap/coffee/him scent again. My mouth went dry. "It's been, ah, a blast."
He laughed.
"What's so funny?"
"You should see the look on your face."
Heat climbed my neck.
With a fingertip, he lifted my chin. "Is it really so bad?" he asked, looking into my eyes.
I stared into his. The light blue seemed even brighter than usual. I sighed. "It's just . . . hard."
"For me too," he said, pulling me into a hug.
For a minute I let him hold me. In his arms, I forgot about the doubts, the questions, the regrets.
He let me go as Thad sauntered into the room in his robe. Carson dashed to his side and thrust a microphone to Thad's lips. The cameraman followed. Ana followed him.
"This is surreal," Bobby said.
I'd been thinking the same thing. For a reality show, nothing seemed to be real at all. Adultery, pretend contestants, phony death threats . . .
Louisa tore out of the room. Face fl ushed, Willie wiped his head, dislodging his comb-over. He returned to the execs, shrugging off the incident.
I turned away from the craziness, headed toward the hot tub. "While we have a second, maybe we should talk."
"About?"
"Us. That kiss today." I glanced up at him.
Arching an eyebrow, the corner of his lip curved up in a smile. "The audience will eat that stuff up, don't you think?"
"The audience? Oh! Right, right. The audience."
"We are pretend contestants, remember?"
"Of course. Pretend." Only there was nothing pretend about that kiss. He knew it. I knew it. Question was, what were we going to do about it?
Heat billowed up in plumes of steam as I leaned on the edge of the hot tub.
Moving in close, his body touched mine. He lowered his head, put it on my shoulder. "Wasn't it?" he whispered into my ear.
Did I want to get into this? To open this can of worms? He'd be gone in a week's time, back to Florida, back to his life.
I dipped my hand into the water, swirled it around. With a loud yelp, I suddenly yanked it out of the water while jumping backward, nearly knocking Bobby over.
He steadied me, keeping me from falling.
"Nina, what's wrong?"
I pointed a shaking, dripping finger toward the hot tub. "Someone . . . someone's in there."
"What?" He reached into the water, searched with his arm. His face paled as a body rose to the surface.
Looks like I'd found Genevieve.

Twelve

All was quiet in the Mill at one in the morning. My house sat in darkness as I pulled into the driveway and cut the engine. No evidence remained of the block party. If nothing else, my mother was a stickler for cleanliness.
Relief flooded me as I saw the house across the street still bore a FOR SALE sign and not a SOLD sign. I could take only so many traumas in one night.
I pushed open the truck door and gasped as I saw Mr. Cabrera standing there. "You just took ten years off my life," I said.
He helped me out of the truck. "Sorry, just wanted to talk with you."
Interrogate would probably be a better term. "And thought one in the morning would be a good time for a chat?"
"When better?" he asked, smiling. "Saw you pull in."
"You were waiting for me."
"I happened to be lookin' out the window."
"Happened?"
He grinned. I was glad to see he hadn't taken his dentures out for the night.
Glow from the street lamps lit the path up to my door way. Riley hadn't bothered to leave the front light on. I unlocked the door and held it open for Mr. Cabrera to follow me in.
"Is anything wrong?" I asked, flipping on lights in the living room. Any hope my living room ceiling had been miraculously patched dissipated when I spotted the telltale hole above my head.
He followed me to the kitchen. "You tell me."
"What do you mean?" I asked, playing dumb. I held up a kettle. "Cocoa?"
"You have marshmallows?"
"Always."
He slid onto a stool, set his elbows on the island. "
Hitched
or Ditched
."
I heard a soft knock at the front door. I opened it to find Flash Leonard standing on my front porch, his sister Miss Sue and her dog Bear next to him. "We heard about the murder," Flash said. "You okay, darlin'?"
"I'm fine. Come on in." I led them to the kitchen. "Pull up a stool. I'll be right back."
Mr. Cabrera looked put-out that he wouldn't be the first to get the scoop. Poor guy.
I crept up the stairs as the three of them launched into a report on Genevieve's murder.
At the top of the steps, I switched on the hall light, tiptoed to Riley's room, slowly turned the knob and opened the door.
Sounds of deep breathing filled the air. He was a mouth breather, had been since I met him when he was eight years old.

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