Digging Up Trouble

by Heather Webber

  For an hour I returned phone calls from clients and potential clients. Apparently the dead guy on the news hadn't hurt business too much, but I had to wonder what the fallout would be from Greta's potential lawsuit and the murder charges.

  On a whim, I picked up the phone and called Lindsey Lockhart to see if she'd had any luck convincing Greta not to sue. She seemed surprised to hear from me, though I couldn't imagine why.

  It wasn't every day someone tricked me into doing a backyard makeover for someone else.

  "Nina, I'm so sorry about everything that happened. Greta's just grief-stricken. When she comes to her senses she'll understand."

  "Have you talked with her?"

  "Well, no. I tried, but she wouldn't open the door."

  I drew my thumb along the edge of my desk.

  Would Greta change her mind? She'd seemed more angry than grief-stricken to me, and I wondered again what kind of marriage she and Russ had had. And asked.

  "They'd been married a long time, Nina. Everyone has problems when you've been married forty years."

  "Forty years? Really?"

  A daddy longlegs crawled along the windowsill. I rolled my chair over to the window, opened it, and helped Daddy outside. He didn't make it, but instead started crawling up the screen.

  "She was eighteen when they married. She'd been an apprentice bookkeeper at a shoe shop and he was her boss. Love at first sight, Greta told me."

  "How much older was he than her?"

  I heard faint music playing in the background. "Ten years."

  That was a big gap when one of them was only eighteen. She'd probably just gotten out of school. Gone from her parents' house to Russ's.

  "I keep hearing how unkind he was. Was he unkind to Greta too?"

  "She never said."

  "But you suspected, right? Isn't that why you and Bill did the makeover? To help her because Russ wouldn't?"

  Lindsey sighed. "He treated her like a possession. Very controlling. Whenever she did something for herself, he criticized and belittled. The homeowners' association, for example."

  "Oh?"

  "Greta wanted to join because she figured it would spur Russ to do something about the yard. Only he thought it was ridiculous and refused to pay the dues or listen to the notices. On principle, he'd said. I think it was because he was cheap."

  "Why didn't she leave him?" I asked.

  "Simple. She loved him."

  Over and over again I kept replaying the rumor I'd heard the day Russ died.

  I heard his wife was hoping he'd have a heart attack when he saw the yard. That's why she hired these people.

  Was there any truth to it?

  No, simply because Greta hadn't planned the makeover. Bill and Lindsey had.

  As the daddy longlegs scampered up the screen, looking for a way out, I thought about that.

  Had they wanted Russ dead? Could that have been the true motive behind the makeover? Not the lawsuit, which was the line Bill and Lindsey had fed me, but something much more sinister?

  After all, Lindsey and Bill had known about Russ's bad heart. Had they planned the makeover hoping he'd have a heart attack from the surprise?

  They'd known how he felt about the HOA. They'd had to have known his reaction to a total backyard makeover.

  And anticipated it?

  A chill ran up my spine as the daddy longlegs found a hole in the screen and crawled to freedom.

  Maybe I'd been reading too much Tom Clancy. All this subterfuge and backstabbing seemed much better suited to a spy novel.

  "I just need to talk to Greta," Lindsey said. "Get her to see reason. We were trying to help her, not harm her."

  Or were they? I couldn't dismiss the fact that they'd both known about Russ's bad heart. Throw in a surprise makeover and it's a perfect recipe for heart attack.

  "Whose idea was it? To do the makeover, I mean?"

  I heard the low hum of a country music station come across the line, louder now in her silence. "I'm just not sure. Let me think."

  I let her, drumming my fingers on my stained desk blotter. Finally she said, "You know, it was Bill. Right after Riley came to work for him. Bill was excited about helping Greta."

  I bet. Especially if he wanted Russ dead.

  I knew I was jumping to conclusions.

  "But twenty thousand dollars is awfully generous. Don't you think?"

  "I had sticker shock for a month, but Bill was adamant we had to do this for Greta. And for Russ too. We just knew he'd appreciate it once he set his pride aside."

  "Why Russ? I thought the whole lawsuit thing was his fault."

  "Well, Russ took a chance on Bill, trusting him with Growl, to get it going, make it successful." She laughed. "And he did that, plus some."

  It was true. Growl was flourishing, garnering all sorts of great press as an innovative, affordable, healthy alternative to the big burger places.

  Yet . . . "Trust him? Isn't Bill a co-owner? Fifty-fifty? Didn't he have as much to lose as Russ if Growl failed?"

  "Not at first. It was seventy-five, twenty-five," Lindsey said. "We couldn't afford to go in halfway right off. It wasn't until last year that we could buy out the other twenty-five percent."

  It sounded to me as if there was a soft side to Russ no one ever got to see. Especially if he'd taken a chance with Bill.

  But I couldn't help but wonder if it had been a mistake to trust Bill Lockhart. There was just something about him that put me off.

  Maybe it was because I'd never go spending twenty thousand dollars out of the goodness of my heart.

  Who had that kind of money to throw around?

  Had Russ? Would he have done the same if the situation were reversed?

  I thought back to differences between the Grabinskys' house and the Lockharts'. Bill and Lindsey's said money all the way down to the hanging baskets and freshly painted trim on their house, while the Grabinskys' had rusting wrought-iron railings and tattered throw blankets.

  Hmm.

  Had Russ really been an Ebenezer? Or could it be that Bill was fiddling with the books?

  The accounting books!

  I bolted out of my chair, nearly choking myself on the telephone cord. Russ had taken the account books home— and Bill desperately wanted them back.

  Coincidence?

  I had a strict commandment not to believe in coincidences.

  I wasn't about to go breaking it now.

  Quickly saying my good-byes, I hung up and looked at my watch. I needed to get over to Deanna's mini before she finished. Then I wanted to go see Greta Grabinsky. Maybe even get a peek at those books while I tried to talk her out of suing me.

  Fourteen

  I searched for a parking spot near the Sandruzzis' house and finally found one down the block, behind an unmarked TBS truck.

  The Sandruzzis were a young, married, double income couple, and it was Amy Sandruzzi's birthday. In addition to a huge surprise party, her husband Darryl had hired TBS. The mini was actually taking place in the front yard, sprucing up lackluster curb appeal.

  As I walked along the street's edge—there were no sidewalks in this older part of town—I could see that the makeover was just about done.

  I stood between a parked minivan and a TBS pickup, taking it all in. The house was a traditional ranch, center entrance, low roof. Nothing too exciting, but in good condition. It had been recently painted a soft yellow, much like my new bedroom.

  Which got me thinking about my bed.

  And Bobby in it.

  And that I was meeting him tonight.

  So we could talk.

  Ack.

  I pushed that out of my mind and focused on the Sandruzzis' yard transformation.

  Deanna had done an excellent job. Her design had included tearing out the old concrete walkway and replacing it with a new brick one, painting the concrete landing, and bordering the now curving path with flower beds on each side.

  Beautiful bright-leafed coleus and bluish purple fanf
lowers glowed against fresh mulch. Japanese holly bushes, an evergreen shrub with small shiny leaves, and rhododendrons—the evergreen Lee's dark purple—added to the visual appeal. To the right of the front door Deanna had added a trellis between two single hung windows, and a clematis had been planted at its base, its spindly fingers already searching for something to grab onto. Under the family room's large picture window Deanna had added a long window box, filled with blue wave petunias. Just petunias. Against the yellow background, the simplicity was stunning.

  The front bushes, old overgrown Japanese yews, had been removed and three burning bushes planted in a neat row.

  To the left of the walkway a young crabapple had been planted. The same brick as the walkway had been used to create a circular planting bed around the crabapple, where yellow zinnias and dahlias along with a mixture of pink, red, rose, white, and yellow snapdragons added color and interest. To my eye, the only work left was some mulching around the fire bushes and cleanup.

  "Nina! Look out!"

  My head snapped up and I saw a big black blur barreling down on me.

  BeBe!

  I scrambled onto the back bumper of the pickup and hurled myself into its bed.

  Two dinner plate-sized paws landed on top of the tailgate, and BeBe's head appeared, drool dripping from her big lolling tongue.

  Marty, panting and out of breath, grabbed BeBe's leash, but couldn't get her to budge.

  BeBe strained, scratching the tailgate.

  Reluctantly, I gave in and stuck out my hand. BeBe started licking it like it was a T-bone flavored doggy popsicle.

  Ew!

  "Kit!" I yelled.

  Kit's chin snapped up. He'd been working on the mulch. His fuzzy head swiveled, and I lip-read the swear that came out of his mouth as he took in the situation.

  I caught his gaze, shot daggers at him. Sharp ones.

  For a second he looked like he wanted to run. He didn't like angry women. He'd have to get over that.

  BeBe continued to slobber as Kit hurried over. Marty had finally caught his breath and said to me, "Sorry, Nina. If I'd known you were coming, I'd have kept a tighter hold on her. She must have smelled you or something."

  My hand dripped drool. I'd finally had enough and pulled it away, wiping it down my shorts.

  There wasn't enough degerminator in the world.

  "What's she doing here?" I asked Kit, not too nicely.

  BeBe tried to jump into the truck bed with me. Kit tugged her leash away from Marty and gave him a dirty look.

  "What?" Marty said. "BeBe must have smelled Nina or something. She just took off all of a sudden."

  "I wish you'd stop saying I smell!"

  "If the deodorant fits," Kit said.

  "Ha. Ha." If he didn't look so little boylike with his fuzzy head and long, drooping eyelashes, he'd be dead meat. "Don't try to evade. What's BeBe doing here?"

  "Daisy got a new job. Crazy hours."

  I couldn't help myself. Discreetly I took a sniff of my armpits and caught a whiff of Secret's Mountain Glade. Maybe BeBe had Secret fetish?

  I folded my arms across my chest, felt some residual BeBe drool. I needed another shower. "What kind of job?" All right, I was being nosy, but I couldn't help myself.

  "She's in medicine."

  BeBe woofed. She apparently wanted some more Ninacicle, as her tongue hung over the tailgate, slurping air.

  I forced myself not to get distracted (but who knew dogs had such long tongues?). "What kind of medicine?"

  "Pharmaceuticals."

  There was a whole range of areas that covered, from prescription to recreational.

  I decided not to press.

  Looking up at the sound of pounding footsteps, I saw Deanna bearing down, a clipboard tucked under her outstretched arm, her watch glinting in the sunlight. With her right hand she tapped the watch face.

  "People! Deadlines!" When she spotted me, she smiled and said, "What do you think?"

  Nothing about me being hunkered in the back of the pickup. Oh, no, nothing unusual about that.

  But I supposed she had a lot on her mind.

  "I think it's beautiful," I said. "You did a great job."

  Her cheeks reddened with the praise and she smiled like a proud new mother. "Thanks," she said, then became all business again by turning and tapping her watch and saying, "People! People! Amy Sandruzzi will be home in twenty minutes. That means you too, Kit."

  I didn't think I had to worry about Deanna having a crush on Kit anymore. Not with that tone.

  "You better go," I said to him.

  He tugged on BeBe's leash and actually got her to heel.

  I caught his eye. "No more BeBe, Kit."

  A dark eyebrow slashed upward. "Or what?"

  I supposed he was trying for menacing, but I knew him too well. And the whole eyebrow thing looked more comical than dangerous. I bit my lip, but the laugh came out.

  "What?" he asked, a frown pulling his thin lips downward.

  " 'Or else,' " I mocked.

  His jaw set. "It's the hair, isn't it? No one takes me seriously with this fuzz on my head."

  "It doesn't help," I said, raising my hand to wipe away the tears from my eyes, but then stopped because I remembered BeBe's slobber. I used the neck of my T-shirt instead.

  Offended, Kit spun and sauntered away, BeBe trying her best to get back to me the whole time.

  I glanced at my watch, saw that if I wanted to stop by Greta's house, I needed to get going. Riley was expecting me to pick him up soon. I climbed out of the pickup bed, took one last look at the Sandruzzi yard. It was in good hands.

  I felt like a proud mama.

  I parked my truck in front of the Grabinsky house and sat there for a minute.

  The more involved I became with this whole mess, the more I regretted ever signing on to do the job.

  Right then and there I made a commandment to not be so nosy where Kevin's first wife was concerned.

  It was none of my business.

  Now that it was a commandment, I'd have to stick to it. I'd yet to find a loophole where commandments were concerned.

  Lindsey and Bill's explanation of why they hired me made sense on the surface . . .

  But every time I repeated it, I kind of had that feeling I got after eating a whole roll of cookie dough.

  All queasy, nothing sitting well.

  "I don't buy it."

  There, I said it. I didn't believe Lindsey and Bill. Not one bit. There's just no way, neighborly love or not, that someone would dole out that kind of money—and I charged a lot—for a gift. Especially since I knew Bill and Russ didn't get along all that well.

  Murder made much more sense.

  "Eee!" I screamed when someone knocked on my passenger window. Turning, I found Meredith Adams, HOA VP, staring at me, arms folded, severely plucked eyebrows arched, sadistic smile gleaming.

  Gritting my teeth, I powered down the window, then rubbed the spot on the top of my leg where it hit on the steering wheel when I'd jumped.

  Bulging eyes narrowed. "There is no loitering allowed in this neighborhood."

  "Did you have a horrible childhood?"

  The smile faded. Her lips pursed as though she'd just tried some of Ana's cooking. "Move along or I will be forced to call the authorities."

  I was sure she'd love that. The rebellious part of me wanted to sit here all day long. But I had things to do, Riley to pick up, and a date with Bobby tonight.

  Bobby. Sigh.

  "I will, you know."

  "What? Leave your poor eyebrows alone next time?"

  She huffed. "Call the authorities. I have the right. I have the power."

  "Meredith, you need help." I decided not to waste any more of my time with her, got out of the truck and walked away, up to Greta's front door. I had the feeling if I turned around, Meredith would still be standing there, waiting to do battle.

  I didn't turn. I didn't want to give her the satisfaction.

  I knocked inst
ead. No sound came from inside, so I leaned over the railing and peeked in the front window. Nothing had changed since the last time I'd done so. Everything was in place, from the afghan to the accounting books.