Trouble In Bloom (5 page)

Then I looked down and saw the tummy roll hanging over my jeans. I tried to suck it in, but it didn't budge.

I really needed to go shopping for some looser shirts.

Or actually start exercising.

"Ready for the meeting?" Deanna asked.

"Not yet. Still waiting for the others."

"Where's Tam?" Deanna asked, mugging for the camera.

"Don't know." I came around my desk. Out in the reception area, I checked the calendar on Tam's workspace. She was supposed to be in at seven-thirty. I hoped everything was okay. Tam was usually the first one in, the last one out.

"Want me to call her?" Deanna asked.

"Not yet. We'll give her some time."

"I'm going to put these delicious Krispy Kreme dough nuts in the conference room," she said into the camera as if doing a commercial spot.

I tried not to laugh—or to whimper. I bet there was a glazed doughnut in that box . . . "Oh," I said to her. "Can I have some time with you this afternoon?"

Panic widened Deanna's eyes. "With me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I just have some ideas I want to run by you."

The fear fled from her eyes, replaced with curiosity. "I have a meeting with Derrick Brandt at the nursery, but should be back by three. I can stick around till four at the latest, but then I have to pick up Lucah at day care."

"Three's fine. Shouldn't take too long."

Kit sauntered in, the chimes jangling his arrival.

Roxie backed up, whether in fear or because Kit's six-foot- five, 250-pound frame took up a lot of room, I wasn't sure.

Despite his somewhat unconventional looks and linebacker height and weight, Kit had a boy-next-door kind of face. Except for now. Now it looked like a serial-killernext-door kind of face.

He glared into the camera, narrowing his eyes. I fully expected a growl out of him, like one of those WWE wrestlers.

"Kit, this is Roxie and Nels, the
Hitched or Ditched
people."

"Pleasure," he mumbled.

Roxie took another step back. Kit usually had a way with women, but today he seemed grumpy. Not his normal self at all.

I took a good look at him. "What's wrong with you?"

My peripheral vision caught Nels circling, his large camera perched on his shoulder. There were no state of the art cameras for HoD, no fancy fluffy booms, no frills.

"Nothing," he growled.

"Pale. Dark circles. Looks like you lost some weight." I stood on tiptoes and pressed my palm to his forehead. "No fever."

"He's
lost
weight?" Roxie whispered in shock.

Kit glared some more, and she took another step back. He lowered my hand. "I'm not sick."

"What's wrong, then?"

Shaking his head, he scowled. The skull tattoo on his bald head glistened.

All right. I'd let it go.

"Tam called my cell," he said. "She's not coming in. Baby's got the sniffl es."

Why hadn't Tam called me? I made a mental note to call her, to check on baby Nic, my somewhat namesake. Her "Nicolette" was derived from my middle name, Colette. After a rocky final trimester, Nic had been born a healthy seven pounds, six ounces, and was now seven weeks old. I wondered if Tam knew about the party my mother was planning. I figured she did. There was little Tam didn't know about around here.

"I should probably call Ursula to fill in." Oddly, I felt no dread about it.

Was I getting used to having Brickhouse around?

What was the world coming to?

Kit leaned on the edge of the desk, eyeing Roxie. "I already spoke to her."

Roxie frantically pointed at me, trying to redirect his attention away from the camera.

"You're supposed to look natural," I told him.

Kit grinned, which made him look somewhat healthier. Somewhat.

The chimes on the front door clanged as it slammed open. A big black four-legged drooling blur barreled down on me.

I braced myself; Roxie screamed and jumped on Tam's desk; Nels cursed; and Kit just kept on grinning.

I was glad to see he was feeling better—just in time for me to kill him.

BeBe, Kit's English mastiff, jumped into my arms, crushed me against the water cooler, and slurped my face with her big drool-covered doggy tongue.

"Gross," Nels said from where he'd taken cover beside the water cooler.

"That's disgusting," Roxie echoed.

Kit whistled sharply, and BeBe abandoned me. She dropped to his feet, her tail thrashing against his leg. Anyone else would have been on their ass.

Ursula "Brickhouse" Krauss stood in the doorway, leash in hand, smiling like a short, white-haired, brick-shaped German Wicked Witch of the West. Only with a cluck instead of a cackle.

I looked between her and Kit, wiped the slime from my face and said, "Do I want to know why BeBe's here? Haven't we already gone through this?"

BeBe was a great dog, but she wasn't supposed to be there. At work.

Drooling on me.

"Ach," Brickhouse said. "She's a good girl. Aren't you, my good little schnitzel?"

BeBe wagged her tail so hard, I was sure Kit would be bruised tomorrow.

"See?" Brickhouse said to me.

I glared at Kit.

"Ursula dogsits for me a couple times a week." He bent over, like a giant sequoia toppling, and flopped BeBe's ears back and forth. "Since she's filling in for Tam—"

"You dogsit?" How come I didn't know about this?

"Three days a week." Brickhouse wagged a finger, much like BeBe wagged her tail. "Today is one of those days. So, if you want me to fill in for Tam, you must take BeBe also."

"Is that a dog?" Roxie asked, climbing down from the desk. Good thing Tam wasn't there. Claws would've flown for sure—Tam is highly territorial about her space. I checked to make sure Sassy, Tam's prized African violet, was okay. She was, basking under a heat lamp set to go on and off throughout the day so Sassy received the proper amount of light.

Kit grinned. "She bites."

Roxie darted behind Nels.

"Oh, she does not!" I said. "BeBe is a good . . . dog." I refused to say the word "schnitzel."

"The meeting?" Deanna reminded from the conference room doorway. "We've got to go over the Towle project, and Nina," she looked at her watch, "you need to leave in ninety minutes to finalize plans with Pippi." For all her nuttiness, Deanna was a stickler for details and time management.

Thank goodness one of us was. It was one of the reasons why I needed to talk to her this afternoon. She was perfect for the job I had in mind.

"We'll be right in," I said.

BeBe's tail thumped happily. I patted her head. "All right. She can stay. But just for today. If Tam's still out tomorrow, then you'll have to find a doggy day care, or leave her with Daisy."

Kit's eyes had been tattooed with dark liner years ago. At the mention of Daisy's name, they narrowed into thin black slits.

I raised an eyebrow. "Not Daisy?"

"Who's Daisy?" Roxie asked, stepping forward, notebook in hand.

"Who're you?" Brickhouse poked Roxie's arm.

"Hey!" She swatted Brickhouse's hand. "No touching."

BeBe growled and lurched to her feet. Brickhouse thumped her back. "That's my good schnitzel."

Roxie took a step back. "Is . . . is she dangerous?"

I looked at Brickhouse. "Very."

"No, not her! The dog!"

"Oh, I think you have more to worry about with Mrs. Krauss."

Brickhouse clucked in agreement.

Roxie stepped back. Smart girl. I made introductions as the phone rang.

Brickhouse answered it. "Hold on one second," she said to the caller. "Kit? Daisy."

Kit growled. He really was grumpy today, and call me Kreskin, but I had the feeling it had to do with Daisy.

Daisy was Kit's live-in girlfriend. If not for the phone calls and occasional hickey on Kit's neck, I'd wonder if she truly existed. Not one of us had ever met her.

Roxie backed off, held up a palm in surrender. "Later. Later is fine."

Brickhouse held out the phone. Kit shook his head. "Sorry," she said, "he's in a meeting right now . . . "

"So, Daisy?" I said to him.

"Not now, Nina."

"Meeting, people?" Deanna tapped a foot, but managed to smile for the camera. "We don't have all day!"

"Coming," I said.

Marty came into the office, looked at the camera, ducked his head and headed straight for the conference room.

"Who was that?" Roxie asked.

"Marty Johnson."

She jotted something else in that notebook of hers. I could only imagine what.

"Bored?" I asked Nels.

"Exhausted."

I smiled. "Welcome to my world."

As Kit and I sat down at the conference table, Deanna said, "I'm so glad you're back together with Bobby."

Wistfully I stared at the doughnut box.

She gushed. "He's so dreamy!"

Did she realize the camera wasn't on?

"Yeah,
dreamy,
" Marty mocked her.

She threw a pencil at his head.

Definitely never boring around here.

At work, only Kit, Brickhouse, and Tam (because she finds out everything anyway) knew about the charade. Everyone else thought Bobby and I were back together.

"Yeah," Kit said, waggling his eyebrows. "The way he looks at you . . . He's so in loooove."

"Oh, that's good," Roxie said from the doorway. "Did you get that?" she asked Nels.

Nels nodded. "Yep."

Ah, screw it. I reached for a doughnut.

Our meeting ran late, but everything looked to be on track for the mini makeover at Lowther House, a très upscale retirement home in nearby Lebanon. I packed up my design boards, and was feeling guilty about the two doughnuts I'd scoffed down.

Maybe I would start exercising. How bad could it be? I enjoyed gym class as a kid, and loved playing soccer and volleyball while in high school. I could huff and puff my way to a toned body again, but knew I didn't have the motivation to do it on my own.

I found Kit hunched over his desk, scowling at paperwork.

Over my shoulder I spotted Nels raiding the fridge. Roxie was off trying to figure out who Daisy was.

The coast was clear.

"I'm thinking about exercising, Kit."

He didn't even look up. "You?"

"Yes, me."

I dropped into the chair across from his desk. He shared an office with Deanna, but she was still in the conference room. I was excited to talk to her later—I hoped she was open to my idea.

"I've put on a few pounds in the last month," I explained.

"You say?" he said in a way that made me think he'd noticed. "How few?"

"Ten."

Okay, it was fifteen, but who was counting?

"So, really fifteen?"

"I hate you."

He finally looked up, laughed. "You want the name of my trainer?"

"I was hoping."

"His name is Duke."

"Is that his first or last name?"

"People don't ask him questions like that." He jotted down a phone number, handed it to me. "I'll give him a call, let him know you'll be getting in touch. And good luck," he added. "You'll need it."

"Why?"

"You'll see."

Suddenly I didn't want to exercise anymore, but then I remembered the doughnuts.

"Well, okay then. Thanks." I left him in his office, wandered back into mine and plopped into my chair. I was worried about Kit. There was such sadness in his eyes.

Nels sat down across from me as the TBS line rang. I heard Brickhouse pick it up, mumble a few words, then disconnect with a polite, "Have a good day."

She was never that polite to me.

My office was suddenly filled with the sounds of Ma- donna's "Like a Virgin."

Nels shot me a question with his eyes.

"My cell phone." I rummaged through my backpack for it.

"Interesting ring tone."

"My cousin Ana has a sick sense of humor. She programmed it, and I don't know how to change it. Do you?"

Rather evilly, he smiled. "Nope."

I didn't believe him for a minute. Or Riley either, who'd said the same thing. One of these days I was going to find the time to stop by the kiosk at the mall where I'd gotten the phone and have someone fix it.

I finally located my phone at the bottom of my backpack, shut Madonna up by flipping it open.

"Is Carson Keyes single?" Ana asked without waiting for me to say hello.

"I don't know. He isn't married. Well, he doesn't wear a ring."

She tsked. "Well, even if he was it's not like that's stopped me before."

"True."

"A little more off the bottom," Ana said. "I'm feeling frisky today."

"What?"

"Not you. Angie."

I pushed papers aside, picked up my pen and started doodling on my blotter. "Angie?"

"Only the best hairdresser in the world."

"Oh."

"And thanks for not commenting on that frisky part."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Brickhouse was now standing next to Nels. "Hold on," I said to Ana.

Brickhouse clucked. "That was Pippi Lowther on the phone. She needs to cancel today. I rescheduled for tomorrow afternoon. Someone died."

"What?"

"At Lowther House."

"Oh." I didn't know any of the residents. "Thanks for letting me know."

I held the phone between my ear and my shoulder and jotted
Pippi
on my desk calendar for tomorrow. Right next to P
erry
. I'd have to call and cancel my appointment with him. "Ana?"

"Did I hear that someone died?"