Trouble under the Tree
A Nina Quinn Mystery
by Heather Webber
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Heather Webber
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Chapter One
Thou, Nina Colette Ceceri Quinn, shall never again get caught standing beneath the mistletoe by a sneaky old man.
“Pucker up, Miz Quinn.” My elderly neighbor pursed his lips like a puffer fish and made kissy noises. His white hair was slicked back with the Dax pomade he’d used for decades, and he smelled as though he’d bathed in Aqua Velva, which he’d kept stockpiled in his linen closet since 1966. He was a vintage kind of guy.
Reluctantly, I leaned in, offering him my cheek. I had my standards, and getting kissed on the lips by Donatelli Cabrera might send me into a catatonic state clear through New Year’s. “You’re not just trying to make Brickhouse jealous, are you?”
Ursula “Brickhouse” Krauss was a lot of things to me. Once, she’d been my evil tenth grade English Lit teacher, then she’d been a client, and now she was a part-time worker of mine—and dare I say it?—a friend.
He huffed. He puffed. He pouted. “I’m over her.”
This was why I loved playing poker with Mr. Cabrera. He was a lousy liar. “You miss her.”
Currently, their on-off relationship was off. Way, way off. Mr. Cabrera had the unfortunate habit of dating women who would become suddenly unavailable. As in really unavailable.
As in dead.
Rumor in the Gossip Mill (affectionately known as the Mill), the nickname of the neighborhood where we lived in Freedom, Ohio, was that Mr. Cabrera was cursed.
I knew the rumors to be true. I’d been to more funerals for his girlfriends over the years than I cared to admit.
Brickhouse and Mr. Cabrera might actually be perfect for each other, but Brickhouse, out of self-preservation, kept “taking breaks” from him every few months to increase her odds of making it to her next birthday. This recent breakup came on the heels of Brickhouse suffering a bout of the flu shortly after Thanksgiving that eventually sent her to the hospital with pneumonia (again—it was the second time this year). When Mr. Cabrera visited her in the hospital with a bouquet of flowers, he may as well been the grim reaper waving his scythe.
She’d sent him packing.
He’d been moping ever since.
“I don’t miss her,” he insisted, lying through his dentures. He adjusted the collar of his Christmas-tree emblazoned sweater. The lights on the animated fabric tree flashed brightly.
I nudged him with my elbow. “She’ll come around. You know, once she’s off the antibiotics.”
He threw a mournful look over his shoulder, into my living room. Brickhouse stood next to the fireplace, warming her hands as she chatted with Tam Oliver, my (indispensible) personal Girl Friday at Taken by Surprise, Garden Designs, my landscaping company.
Brickhouse still didn’t look too well. Pale and wan, she’d lost a good twenty pounds which made her square-shape more pear-like. Even her short spiky white hair had wilted a bit.
It was a little over a week until Christmas and my open house holiday party was in full swing, however I noticed no one else was foolish enough to hang out near the mistletoe. I couldn’t blame them, with Mr. Cabrera still lurking nearby.
That was me. Nina Colette Slow Learner Ceceri Quinn.
“Well, I ain’t waiting around for her,” he declared. “I’m done with her calling all the shots. I deserve better than that, don’t I?”
I thought Brickhouse might deserve a long life, but didn’t say so. Plus, he kind of had a point. “Do you already have a new girlfriend?”
Eagerly, he rubbed his hands together. “I surely do.”
These were the days of my life.
Between Mr. Cabrera’s love life, my own love life, my crazy dysfunctional family, and all those murders I’d been mixed up in...I was living a daytime drama.
“Really?” I mentally prepped a warning for the poor, misfortunate woman.
His unruly white eyebrows dipped at my tone. “I’m a catch.”
A catch someone would do best to toss back. I couldn’t help but smile. “Of course you are.”
He puffed out his barrel chest. “I asked Fairlane McCorkle to accompany me to the tree-lighting at Christmastowne tomorrow.”
Christmastowne was an enormous indoor Christmas village, owned by old high school friends of mine. As a favor to them, I’d taken on the job of decking Christmastowne’s halls and had been working there for the past two weeks during its “soft open.” After the grand opening, slated for tomorrow afternoon, I could go back to focusing my attentions on my one-day garden makeovers. These multiweek gigs took their toll, especially when everything that could go wrong had.
“And what did Fairlane say?” I glanced around for her. She was here somewhere—I could hear her laugh rise above the murmured conversations. Never had she struck me as a woman who had a death wish, but my perceptions and intuitions about people had been knocked off-kilter by all those murder investigations I’d been involved in.
Fairlane was fairly new to the neighborhood, considering most of its residents (aside from me) had lived here for decades. She and her twin sister, Fairlee (known as “Lele”), had moved in six months ago, which was more than long enough to have heard the Mr. Cabrera rumors—and see the curse at work firsthand (may Boom-Boom Vhrooman rest in peace). Fairlane was a vivacious lady, full of life and more than a little full of herself. Though she tended to rub me the wrong way, I really didn’t want to see her get hurt. Not by a curse. And not by a rebound relationship with our resident Romeo.
“She said she’d love to,” he said with a bit of braggadocio in his voice.
Assessing him carefully, I narrowed my eyes. “Are you sure you aren’t using her to make Brickhouse jealous?”
“No, but it would be an added bonus.” He cackled as he walked off.
I stepped far away from the mistletoe and went in search of a cup of eggnog, which I intended to spike. Heavily. I found Kit Pipe manning the bowl, looking out of place among all the frou-frou Christmas decorations my mother had insisted on putting up.
He handed me a glass of eggnog. A crystal glass—also a result of my mother’s party planning. My request to use cute snowman-decorated paper cups and plates had gone out the window with my “tacky” colored Christmas lights (which would go right back up when everyone left). When Celeste Madeline Chambeau Ceceri made a decision, it was best to go with it rather than deal with the dramatic repercussions.
Besides, I’d asked for her help (what had I been thinking?), so I really only had myself to blame. “Thanks,” I said, heading for the hard liquor on the counter. I poured a healthy dose of rum into my glass. “Want some?”
He pulled a flask from his front pocket. “Been there, done that.”
“Smart man.”
“Goes without saying.”
I smiled and raised my glass in a toast to him. Kit had worked for me a long time now—he’d been my very first employee when I started my original landscaping company, which eventually morphed into TBS—a company that specialized in surprise garden makeovers completed in one day. Over the years, he’d become more th
an just an employee—he had become a close friend and recently, a roommate. If his relationship with my cousin Ana Bertoli continued on its hot and heavy path, he might soon be family. I couldn’t be happier about that. He’s a good guy, despite the fact that he looked like a complete thug. Six-five, two hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle and multiple tattoos—including inked eyeliner and a skull on his bald head. During this past summer, he went through a stretch when he had grown out his hair, and it had been just plain strange to look at him. People usually gave him a wide berth—which was just the way he liked it.
“Where’s Ana?” I asked.
“Working late.”
Ana was a probation officer for the county court system. It was through her that I’d met Kit—and Tam Oliver, too. All my employees had been sent to me through Ana’s job. She occasionally helped her favorite probationers find employment. TBS was the first stop on her list, since she knew I was a sucker for giving people a second chance.
It was odd for Ana to be working so late on a Friday night, and I hoped she wasn’t plotting for me to hire someone else. My staff was at capacity. Winter at a landscaping company was not a time to take on a new employee. As it was, I had been lucky to keep my staff at full-time status. We had been busier this season than usual with the sudden popularity of indoor gardens, but it was the enormous job at Christmastowne that had been our saving grace. With that payday, I wouldn’t have to worry about payroll through the winter months. For that security alone, it had been worth it to bend TBS’s one-day only rules and take the two-week-long job.
As I added another splash of rum to my eggnog, I glanced out the kitchen window. Cars were parked in the driveway, two by two, and lined along both sides of the street. Several of the cars had antlers sticking from the windows and red noses on the grills. I smiled. Some people hated the look, but personally, I found it adorable. Not adorable enough to put on the company truck I drove around, however. I had to keep up some sense of decorum after all. I was a successful business woman. There were false pretenses to keep up.
Ah, screw it. I made a mental note to get myself some of those antlers tomorrow at Christmastowne.
My gaze skipped across the street to Bobby MacKenna’s house. He was out of town—and had been for two weeks—which put our hot and heavy on hold. Indefinite hold.
I’d agreed to marry him on Thanksgiving Day.
But had been having second thoughts recently.
Partly because I wasn’t entirely sure—despite trying to convince myself otherwise—that I was over my ex. We’d only split seven months ago. A lot had happened in that time. Especially a lot of forgiveness.
But mostly because Bobby and I didn’t do well as a long-distance couple. Been there, done that as Kit would say. It hadn’t gone well.
I caught my reflection in the glass and tried not to frown. Oh, not at my bobbed brown hair (which looked pretty good thanks to my friend Perry, a hairstylist), or my plain ol’ muddy green eyes—but at the look in my eyes.
I looked like Mr. Cabrera.
Moping.
Egads.
I forced a brighter expression, but it just looked phony.
I sighed.
“When’s Bobby due back?” Kit asked, coming up next to me.
“Not sure. His mom’s heart surgery is scheduled for Monday.”
Two weeks ago, Bobby had packed a suitcase, his laptop, and his grandfather Mac, and had flown to Texas, where he’d grown up, to take care of his mom. She’d started having heart trouble a few weeks ago, and when things had taken a turn for the worse it was decided she needed surgery. Since Bobby had recently quit his job to write full-time, he’d been able to drop everything to take care of her. Bobby said he’d taken Mac with him for moral support, but I think it was more because Mac couldn’t be left without adult supervision for too long.
Otherwise, Mac might end up in jail again.
He had the worst habit of taking things that didn’t belong to him.
“It was nice of him to let me stay at his place while he’s away,” Kit said.
Bobby offered Kit free rent in lieu of house-sitting while Bobby was away. Until then, Kit had been living here with me after going through a terrible breakup with his girlfriend, who’d later been found murdered.
I winced at the memories. It had been a horrible time. Kit had been missing, and the police thought he was guilty. I shook my head, not allowing myself to go there. “He’s a nice guy,” I finally said.
“You hanging in?” Kit asked, his lined eyes probing.
“Yep. It’s just strange not having him here.” Bobby and I had been through thick and thin, including those pesky murders, my ex, and well, my crazy family and neighbors. If he could put up with all that, I could certainly deal with him being out of town for a while. After all, he was an only child. His mom needed him.
Indefinitely.
Just the thought of being alone with my mom indefinitely caused me to shudder. Which made me feel like an awful daughter, so I automatically forgave the crystal glasses. And the mistletoe. And the plain white lights. It was a lot of guilt I was feeling, obviously.
My guilt-o-meter was working overtime right now. It was because of the time of year—the holidays—and the fact that this would be the first Christmas in a very long time that Riley, my almost sixteen-year-old stepson, wouldn’t be celebrating with me.
He’d recently decided to move in with his dad, my ex Kevin, and as a stepmom I really had no say in the matter. I dutifully ignored the tug on my heartstrings. There wasn’t enough rum in the bottle to help me deal with those feelings.
Riley sulked into the kitchen, went to the fridge, and pulled out a Mountain Dew.
Speak of the devil.
“How’s my favorite elf?” I asked unable to stop a smile.
He groaned.
“Elf?” Kit asked.
“Riley got a job at Christmastowne as one of Santa’s elves,” I explained. “He started today.”
Riley hung his head in mock shame.
Kit threw his head back and laughed, a deep rumbling that had the crystal glasses humming. He wiped tears from his eyes and barked out, “How did I miss this?”
Ry popped the top on the can of soda. “Because I took great pains to avoid everyone who might recognize me.”
Kit laughed harder. “Why take the job in the first place?”
“To work on my self-esteem obviously,” Riley smart-mouthed then frowned. “I need the money to buy my own wheels once I get my license.”
“Dude,” Kit said, “you could have asked me for a loan.”
“Really?” Riley asked, blue eyes hopeful.
“No.”
Riley groaned.
Kit said, “Not until after I get to see you dressed as an elf. Do you have to wear the shoes, too?” Kit made a curly motion toward his feet.
Riley had the whole outfit from elf ears to jingle hat and striped tights. Kit was going to be beside himself when he got a look at it—and I knew without a doubt he was going to go looking.
When Riley refused to answer, Kit laughed harder.
“It’s not funny,” Riley said and walked away.
“No one likes an angry elf,” Kit called after him.
Riley muttered something under his breath, and I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know what.
A flushed Fairlane caught Riley under the mistletoe. It just wasn’t the poor kid’s day. He leaned down and let her kiss his cheek, then headed straight for the stairs and his old bedroom, presumably for some peace and quiet. I couldn’t blame him a bit.
“He’s such a good boy, Nina,” Fairlane cooed. “A good boy.”
He had his moments, but overall he was a great kid.
She fanned her face as Kit handed her a glass of eggnog.
Fairlane was a sight. Her exact age was a mystery thanks to the plastic surgery she’d had, but I pegged her to be somewhere near sixty. With her Tweety Bird blond hair teased into an updo, lots of makeup, and skin t
ight clothes that showed every curve and dimple of her body, she looked like a middle-aged strumpet. Curvy in all the right places, she was a good two to three inches shorter than my five-foot-four—her head only came up to Kit’s armpit while mine reached his collarbone.
She eyed him like he was a big ol’ candy cane. “Thank you, honey. Aren’t you a looker? Do you enjoy the company of older women?”
Kit’s somewhat frightened gaze cut to me.
I nearly choked on my eggnog. “Fairlane,” I said, “what would Mr. Cabrera say?”
“Donatelli? Darlin’, why would he care?”
“I thought you had a date with him tomorrow?”
Her eyebrows dipped as far as the artificial filler in her face would let them. “A date?”
Maybe he had gotten the twins confused. They were identical in looks, after all, right down to their immovable foreheads. But even though they looked alike, their personalities couldn’t be more different. Lele was quiet and shy—even now she stood in the corner of the living room by herself—while Fairlane was the life of the party. “To the tree-lighting ceremony at Christmastowne?”
“Oh, dear! I think there’s been some confusion. I told the sweet old man I’d be there, but I’ll be working.”
The sweet old man. Ouch. I hoped Mr. Cabrera wasn’t eavesdropping.
To Kit, she said, “Lele and I were hired to take turns manning the magic reindeer food kiosk and playing Mrs. Claus. Haven’t you seen us there?”
“No,” he said, obviously lying.
It was hard to miss Fairlane anywhere.
“Well, tomorrow’s my day to be Santa’s favorite lady.” She put her hands on her curvy hips and swung them left and right. “Maybe you should come by and jingle my bells.”
I nearly choked on my eggnog again and realized I’d suddenly gone from worrying about Fairlane to worrying about Mr. Cabrera. He didn’t take rejection well. I saved Kit (whose eyes bulged dangerously) from answering by saying, “I’m not sure Mr. Cabrera realizes you’ll be working.”
“I suppose I should set him straight,” she murmured, casting longing looks at Kit.
Trouble Under the Tree (A Nina Quinn Mystery) Page 1