Trouble In Bloom (3 page)

I picked lint off my dark pants. "You know me a little better than Thad does."

"A lot better."

"I am not sleeping with you."

"Did I ask?" He grinned again. Damn that dimple.

"Well, no."

"Then what are you getting so worked up about?"

I powered down the window, letting the autumn air cool me down.

He laughed. "You'll cave."

The subject needed to be reestablished immediately. "Genevieve certainly didn't seem too worried about that death threat."

"Maybe Thad was consoling her."

I laughed. "Gives new meaning to consolation prize."

Bobby smirked. "Or . . . "

"What?"

"What happens if Carson Keyes reports that new hostess Genevieve Hidalgo Sala received a death threat on the set of
Hitched or Ditched
?"

Shifting in my seat, I took a good look at him. "Ratings for
Hitched or Ditched
go through the roof, just in time to ink the deal with the major network."

"Exactly."

Traffic slowed to a crawl near the Lockland Split. I took a deep breath. "Do you think Genevieve's that manipulative?"

"Without a doubt."

"It would explain about her not wanting the cops involved too."

Bobby nodded. "I think, as Genevieve said, we should just mind our own business where she's concerned, and stay out of it."

"Do you think Genevieve and Thad sleeping together affects Josh's case at all?"

Bobby glanced at me. "Maybe. Maybe not. I'm not sure what Josh is hoping for us to accomplish. I can't imagine we'll learn anything in a week."

"Perry seemed to know a lot. I can probably get more information from him."

"Louisa didn't seem to mind telling me about Willie Sala's bad marriage. Seems Genevieve and Willie have been fighting a lot these days. I'll see what else I can get out of her."

I didn't like the sounds of that last sentence. "Louisa?"

"The production assistant. The cute one with the brown eyes, long blonde curly hair, nice lips."

The one that had been eyeballing him during the meeting. I grit my teeth, trying not to be insanely jealous because he thought she was cute. I was very sure she was a no-good tramp. "She must hear everything."

He smiled as if knowing, just knowing, what he was do ing to me. "I have to tell you, this is a lot more fun than new teacher meetings and planning sessions."

"Don't go turning all Frank Hardy on me."

"Tell the truth, you had a poster of Shaun Cassidy on your wall as a kid."

"Two," I said, laughing. "Maria had three."

He turned serious, his lips thinning, his eyes narrowing.

"What?" I asked.

"That. Your laugh. I've missed it."

"Oh." Deep breath. T
ake a deep breath, Nina.
I could handle the joking, the teasing. It was these brief moments of seriousness I had trouble with.

Bobby exited the highway at Tylersville, turned right. "I'll call Josh in the morning, let him know what we've turned up so far. Did Willie hit on you at all? That would help solidify Josh's case."

I accepted
his
change of subject. HoD was safe ground. "Nope. Not a single person did."

"You sound depressed about that."

Fiddling with the radio, I pretended to pout. "It hurts a girl's ego, you know."

He laughed as he turned onto my street, the heart of the Mill, aka the Gossip Mill, located on the outskirts of Freedom, Ohio.

Maple tree branches heavy with fire engine red leaves canopied the street, shading it from the late afternoon October sun.

A brand new FOR SALE sign sat in the yard across the street from my house. The previous owner had died during the summer, a tragic accident.

"You have company," Bobby said.

I wasn't surprised. I always had company.

My mother's car sat in my driveway.

Celeste Madeline Chambeau Ceceri had been around a lot lately. She was in charge of the reconstruction of my house, since the renovation of my bathroom—a gift from her—had sent my second floor plummeting through the ceiling onto the first fl oor.

That had been months ago, and à la Humpty Dumpty, my house still wasn't put back together again.

My front door opened and my mother waved. "I've made dinner!"

Inside, she kissed our cheeks. "Do tell everything!" she gushed. "Did you meet that dreamy Thad Cochran? Is he just as cute in person as he is on TV? He's just so . . .
Sigh."

She'd scratch Genevieve Sala's eyes out if she knew. "He's something. Where's Dad?" I asked, hooking my backpack purse on the rack near the cat clock with the creepy eyes and swaying tail. The clock had been a gift from my stepson Riley years ago, and I didn't dare part with it even though it gave me the heebies.

"Late class."

My father, a retired history professor, recently went back to work, teaching part-time at Freedom Community College.

He says because retirement was boring.

My gut says it was to keep from killing my mother. She was a lot to handle 24/7.

Bobby pulled out a counter stool, sat, poked at the grapes sitting in a Tupperware bowl on the island.

"Honestly,
chérie
, I couldn't be happier. He drove me crazy being at home all day. I need my space."

"Your
space." I laughed.

She gave me the Ceceri Evil Eye. "Yes, my space. I've been working on Tam's baby shower. I haven't the time to baby-sit your father."

Plucking a grape from the stem, I said, "I don't think Tam wants a baby shower." Tam Oliver, my right-hand woman at work, wasn't big on surprises. In fact, she hated them. "The baby's already seven weeks old. She probably already has what she needs."

"P
ah.
She'll love it."

I wasn't so sure.

As my mother dished out chicken alfredo, she caught me staring at the huge hole in my living room ceiling.

It was hard to miss. The contractor had to widen the original gap to fix the second fl oor fl oorboards. A job that was supposed to take two weeks. It had been almost eight now.

"The crew will be here in the morning with the drywall," she said.

"I'll believe it when I see it."

She turned, but I could have sworn I heard her mutter, "Me too."

Never a good sign.

I looked at my plate with longing.

"Eat," she urged.

"I shouldn't. It's pasta."

"And?"

"I'm on a low-carb diet."

"You, c
hérie
, do not need a diet."

"Really? Look at this." I grabbed a love handle, jiggled.

She gasped. "Where'd
that
come from?"

I'd eaten a lot in the month before I'd sunk to the depths of self-discovery. "Cookie dough."

Eyes wide, she snatched my plate, scraped my food into the garbage disposal. "I'll make you a salad."

Bobby leaned over, whispered, "You look great. Better than ever."

"You've been in the sun too much."

"We could always skip dinner," he whispered in my ear. "Go straight to dessert."

All I could think about was cookies and how long it had been since I'd had one.

My cheeks flushed. Skipping dinner suddenly sounded like a great idea. I caught his eye. He winked.

I caved. "Mom—"

"Yes, c
hérie
?"

The back door opened and Riley marched in, my exhusband Kevin on his heels.

Drats!
"Never mind."

Bobby jabbed his fork into his pasta.

I plucked another grape. "You two are home early."

Grunting, Riley headed upstairs.

It had been almost seven months since I'd found lipstick on Kevin's boxers—a shade that wasn't mine. He'd moved out, but left behind the one thing I really cared about: fifteen-year-old Riley. It'd had been Kevin's idea to have Riley live with me, but it had been Riley's decision, which made me happier than I could put into words. We had our moments of strife, but overall, we'd been getting along great.

On the whole, I was a decent stepmom. Riley's mother had died when he was a toddler, and I knew he still missed her each and every day. As much as my mother annoyed me on occasion, I couldn't imagine life without her—so I could only imagine the pain Riley had been through in his young life.

"Smells good," Kevin said to my mother as if he was still her son-in-law.

"Hmmph," my mother said. She still hadn't forgiven him for cheating on me.

I'd come to terms with it, and had even kinda-sorta begun to think we could rekindle a friendship, which was why he was allowed to come into the house without knocking. Well, when he was with Riley.

Much to my dismay, Kevin and Bobby
had
become friends. Friendlier on Kevin's part since Bobby had moved.

"Since he's home, does Riley know how to play cribbage?" she asked me. "I need to learn if I'm ever going to beat Donatelli at the weekly match. A couple hours of practice should do it." Donatelli Cabrera, my next door neigh bor and quasi-grandfather. He was known for his ability to ferret out the littlest piece of gossip and dole it out at the Mill's weekly cribbage game like penny candy. "Just how late are you planning on staying?" I asked.

She shook a ladle at me. "Are you trying to get rid of your mama?"

"I'd never!" I forked a tomato, stared at it. Blah.

"That's what I thought."

"Where's Tony?" Kevin asked her, scooping chicken alfredo onto a plate.

I took the plate away from him. There were still some limits to our friendship. "Y
ou're
not staying."

"Hmmph," he said.

Bobby eyed the phone. "I should probably check on my grandfather."

"Oh!" my mom cried. "How's Mac doing? I haven't spoken to him in a couple of days. How's Jasmine?"

Jasmine was the nurse my mother had found to help care for Mac during his rehabilitation.

"She's great, but she quit yesterday."

My mother looked horrified. "Quit?"

"Mac likes to touch."

My mother's cheek twitched. A nervous tic.

"But I'm checking into homes for him. At eighty-five, a bad hip, and no nearby relatives, it's time."

Looking longingly at the pasta, Kevin said, "Tell him his twenty bucks is in the mail."

"Football?" Bobby asked.

Kevin nodded.

"You should never bet against Mac."

"I know that now. You could have warned me before."

I looked between the two of them. "You know Mac?" I said to Kevin.

"From way back."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

My mother cut into the conversation—she never liked

being left out for long. "Tony's at school," she said, giving Kevin back his plate. She shrugged at me. "We can't let him starve."

Kevin grinned while I said, "Yes, we can."

"Manners, c
hérie
."

I speared a cucumber and gritted my teeth.

"School?" Kevin repeated.

"Teaching part-time." Mom ladled another scoop of sauce on his plate.

I grinned. "Because Mom needs her space."

Kevin's fork stopped in midair. "
Her
space?"

"Exactly," I said.

My mother gave us both the evil eye.

Smiling, Bobby buttered a roll and kept quiet.

Butter. Rolls.
Mmmm.

Dieting sucked.

"Why's Riley in a mood?" I asked.

Kevin twirled linguine. "I had to bail on dinner."

Now that I really looked at him, I noticed dark circles hung like half-moons under his green eyes. He looked horrible. Pale skin, bloodshot eyes, wild hair. I wondered what was so important that he'd ditch Riley, but figured I didn't have the right to ask since our divorce.

"I got called in for duty tonight," he said, as if he were now the Amazing Kreskin.

I wondered if all my thoughts were so transparent. That wouldn't be so good. I glanced at Bobby. Nope, not good at all.

"Who died?" my mother asked, sounding suspiciously like my cousin Ana, who had a morbid fascination with death. Ana loved hanging out with Kevin, a homicide detective.

"No one that I know of," Kevin said, his mouth full. "I've been doing a little undercover work."

Hah. That's what he told me when he'd actually been cheating with his partner, Ginger Ho. Er, Barlow. Detec tive Ginger Barlow. I wondered if karma was coming back around to kick her in the patooski.

"Hey," I said to him. "Hypothetical question. If someone should receive a death threat and doesn't want to call the police, should witnesses call?"

Both Kevin's eyebrows arched and his fork stopped halfway to his mouth, then fell out of his fingers. It landed on his plate with a clatter as he leaned back, eyed me. "Nina . . . "

"What?" I said. "It's hypothetical."

"Who got a death threat?" my mother cried. "Not Thad!"

"Hypothetical," I singsonged.

"Not you!" My mother came around the counter, pulled me into a bear hug.

"Can't. Breathe."

She let me go.

"It's not me. It's hypothetical." Everyone looked at me. "Okay! Genevieve Sala got one, but she doesn't want to go to the police, and we're not sure if she sent it to herself for ratings."

"Genevieve who?" my mother asked.

"The new hostess of
Hitched or Ditched,
" Bobby said, leaning against the counter.

"I didn't know the show had a new hostess," she said.

"Me either," Kevin said. "And actually how are you involved with that show?"

Uh-oh.

"They're on it!" My mother grinned. "Isn't that great?"

"Wonderful," Kevin said, shoving his plate aside.

I didn't think now was the time to get into the whole undercover thing with him, and I was going to kill my mother for making it seem as though we were real contestants when she knew quite well we weren't.