"Not yet. Maybe he hit traffic?" I said. The Kalypso was a good fifty minutes and two highways away from here. She wrinkled her nose.
"Maybe. I haven't been able to get in touch with him all day. Oh well. I guess we can get started without him."
I grabbed the can of marking paint. Today we were going to draw preliminary pathways on the dirt, so the irrigation work could get started. "Are you happy with the paths on the design board? The ones we already agreed on?" I added for good measure, hoping she wouldn't change her mind. Again.
"Well," she said, and fluttered her lashes at me. I groaned.
Kit elbowed me out of the way. He looked at Maria with big moon pie eyes. "We can do anything you want," he said, then added, "I'm getting a dog."
Maria's face brightened into a smile and she clapped. She'd been a cheerleader in high school, and even at twenty-five hadn't completely broken old habits. "A dog! How fabulous for you," she said to him, flirting up a storm. I stepped in between the two of them. "A dog, because he wants a baby and his girlfriend Daisy doesn't." Kit growled at me. So did Maria. I was beginning to feel unwanted.
The echo chamber produced another slam of a door, quickly followed by a second and third. "Maybe that's Nate now?" I said.
We all trekked along the back wall to the corner of the house. Coming toward us were a man and two women—one older, one younger. I recognized them immediately, seeing as how I'd just met them a week ago.
Maria stopped short. "Mr. Frye? What are you doing here?" She then turned to me. "Nina, you remember my bosses, Mr. Colin Frye and Mrs. Roz Phineus? And," she nodded to the younger woman, "Mr. Frye's wife, Verona?"
"I remember," I said, holding out my hand. I'd met them at the engagement party they'd thrown for Maria and Nate. I'd been confused as all get-out when I'd first met the bunch until Maria explained that Roz was Verona's mother and that Phineus Frye had been founded by Verona's father. Colin and Roz had taken it over after he died.
Mrs. Phineus waved Maria's introduction away. She had long red fingernails, short spiky silver hair, and sharp eagle eyes. "Call me Roz," she said in a three-pack-a-day voice. Huge princess-cut diamonds sagged on her earlobes.
"This is Kit Pipe," I told them, nudging him forward.
Verona's eyes widened, and Roz smiled brightly. "Oh my," the older woman said with a sigh as she took Kit's hand.
Kit might look scary, but he had a way with women that baffled me.
As Roz released his hand, she smiled, and I noticed her facial muscles barely moved. Obviously, she'd had a little work done.
Maria slipped her suit coat back on. "I—I wasn't aware you were coming . . ."
Colin Frye held his hands up. "Forgive us for just dropping in."
Maria smiled one of her famous charming smiles, and I swear I heard Kit sigh. I passed him the marking paint. "Why don't you go mark . . . something?"
He grinned knowingly at me. Roz fanned herself as he went.
Verona rolled her eyes. She looked to be a few years older than me—mid-thirties—and was tall, maybe fiveten, with stringy blonde hair and a plain-Jane pale face. She had a pinched look about her, as though she spent a lot of time squinting. With a heavy sigh Verona said, "Roz, please."
I wondered what my mother would do if I called her "Celeste." Possibly she would maim me . . . or worse. Maria fidgeted. "I'm thrilled you stopped by, Mr. Frye, but I'm not sure why."
On the younger side of forty, Colin Frye had curly golden hair, liquid brown eyes, and a slightly lopsided smile. He folded his arms across his chest, rocked back on his heels. Verona answered for him. "We were in the area for dinner and thought we'd stop by in hopes of catching Nate. I haven't been able to reach him by phone."
Maria tipped her head, her blonde hair shimmering in the sunlight. "Nate? Why? Oh, something to do with the gala?" To me, Maria explained, "Phineus Frye and the Kalypso are teaming up again this year to raise money for the Phineus Cancer Foundation. Nate's running things on the Kalypso side."
"And," Verona said, "after what happened to poor Brian Thatcher, Colin has put me in charge of the Phineus Frye side of things."
I looked a question at Maria. Who was Brian Thatcher? She gave a short little "not now" shake of her head. Ohh-kay.
"She's very qualified," Colin added, as if I had been questioning it.
I hadn't been.
Roz had wandered a few feet away, watching Kit trek across the backyard to check out the pond. He wasn't marking anything—the design plans were in my backpack. "Nate has some paperwork I need," Verona said, deftly turning the conversation back to why they were here. Maria's perfectly shaped eyebrows dipped. "I can check the condo, but he probably has it at work if it concerns the gala."
Nate and Maria lived together in a condo on the other side of town. They were waiting until after the wedding to move in here, their dream house, which was fully finished, furnished, and decorated.
Verona Frye's right hand went to her throat, to a beautiful strand of pearls. "I'm sorry to be a bother, but this is quite important. The caterer . . ."
"I'd call Nate myself," Maria said, "but he's not been reachable today. How soon do you need the paperwork?" Verona let go of her pearls. "As soon as possible. Tonight would be great. There's been a bit of a snafu. The caterer has a number quite a bit smaller than the one I have. We need to verify, and Nate has the master list."
Maria pressed her lips together. "I'm sorry. I'll ask him about it when he gets home and have him get in touch with you."
Colin Frye's lips curved into a smile. "We'd appreciate it, Maria."
I could tell Maria wasn't entirely comfortable with her boss's presence.
Verona's hand went back to her pearls. "Colin, dear, we should be going if we're to keep our reservations. Roz?" she called out. "We're leaving."
Roz blew a kiss to Kit before accepting Colin's offered arm. They headed toward their car. Maria and I walked with Verona. She watched me out of the corner of her eye, making me a bit uneasy.
"Maybe," I said, "I should go help Kit."
"No!" Verona cried under her breath. She slowed her steps.
"No?"
"I was hoping to get a moment alone with you, without Colin or Roz . . . I've been reading about Taken by Surprise. I'd love for you to come do one of your 'minis' at our house. I think Colin would be tickled. Maybe this coming weekend? He'll be out of town . . ."
A "mini" was a mini makeover. One that took a couple of hours at most and usually focused solely on one trouble area instead of a whole yard.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I couldn't possibly. There's not enough time."
Maria clapped her hands (if she did it one more time, I'd be forced to get out duct tape) and said, "It would be wonderful to surprise Mr. Frye!"
"No. Time."
"If it's cost . . ." Verona said, in a way that screamed dollar signs.
"No, it's not cost. It's time. I don't have any."
"Nina, it's just a mini," Maria said. "How long could it take?"
My jaw dropped.
Maria fluttered her lashes. "He is my boss, Nina."
She added the smile.
I sighed. Heavily.
"Think of it as a wedding gift for me."
"Uh . . ." I said, opening my arms toward her backyard. True, I wasn't footing the six-figure bill for the work, but it was my design . . . and my crew who would be implementing the plans. "An additional gift."
How did I get myself into these situations? "Call my office," I told Verona. "I'll see what I can do."
I thought Maria might do a cartwheel.
"Thanks so much," Verona said to me in a whisper as we reached the car.
Colin helped his wife into the front seat. "Have Nate call us when he gets in, Maria," Colin said. "This is a quite important matter. I don't want any guests going hungry."
"I will."
He turned to me. "Pleasure, Ms. Quinn."
Maria and I watched the car roll down the long winding drive. I turned toward Maria.
"I'm still trying to remember why."
The sounds of "Love Story" filled the air. I groaned. Only Maria would have "Love Story" as a ring tone on her cell phone.
Glancing at the readout, she smiled. Flipping open the phone, she said, "Nate?"
Her smile faded into a grim line. "No, he's not with me," she said after listening for a while. "No, I haven't. I've been trying to reach him myself."
I tried not to eavesdrop, but some things couldn't be helped.
After she said, "I will," and snapped her phone closed, she looked at me, her eyes filled with a bit of panic. "That was Nate's secretary," she said. "She's worried because Nate went to breakfast early this morning with his boss and has yet to come back."
Two
Despite her three-inch heels, Maria stomped her foot like a petulant two year old. "He's run out on me!"
"You don't know that," I calmly tried to explain. "There could be any number of reasons why he's late. Car trouble, for one."
"And another?" she asked, leveling an icy glare at me. I said weakly, "Traffic?"
She waved her arms like a whirligig. The sleeves of her Chanel suit coat rode up to her elbows. "He got cold feet!" She stomped some more. "Men just don't know what commitment means."
I tended to agree. I'd been married for seven years to Kevin. Happy years, until I'd found his partner's lipstick on his boxers.
I'd kicked him out, and he'd gone, leaving me the one thing I never realized how much I wanted—his son, Riley. At fifteen, Riley was as surly as they came, and we continuously butted heads. It wasn't until recently that we both realized just how much we cared about each other. Nevertheless, we were still doing that butting heads thing. Lately it was over his sudden inability to tell time. He'd missed his curfew a handful of times in the last couple of weeks. I still didn't know what to do about it, especially since I was a little time-challenged myself. It's hard to give a teenager a "do as I say, not as I do" lecture.
Dried soil crunched under my Timberlands. "Could be he got a flat tire."
She flipped her hair back. "Claire Battiste has been eyeing him for a while. Maybe he finally gave in."
"Claire Battiste?"
"Nate's boss. You met her."
"I did?"
"At our engagement party. Tall, blonde, early thirties, flirted with every man in the room."
"Oh her. I didn't meet her, but I saw her." It had been hard to miss her. Mini-mini-skirt, mile high legs, and every pair of male eyes watching her.
"Well, she's . . . she's . . ." Maria's chin shot in the air. "I'll just come out and say it."
Lord help us all.
"She's a hussy."
"Maria, I'm sure the CEO of the Kalypso isn't a hussy."
"H-u-s-s-y."
"Okay, okay, she's a ho, but that doesn't mean Nate's cheating on you."
Hands on her hips, Maria mumbled under her breath about tramps and office romances. She paced on her tiptoes, so her heels wouldn't snag on the crusty, chunky sun-baked ground. As she pivoted, she zeroed in on me. "I should have seen this coming. He's not been himself for over a week now. When I asked him about it, he brushed it off." She cleared her throat. " 'Don't worry, baby, everything's fine,' " she mimicked, doing quite a good job of imitating Nate's son-of-a-politician's voice. " 'I love you, baby; I'd never do anything to jeopardize our relationship.' " She let out a small primal cry. "That lyin', stinkin', rotten, no good, two timin', backstabbin' son of a—"
"Maria!" I grabbed her hands so she wouldn't take a swing at me by mistake.
Her blue eyes widened, focusing on me.
Calmly, I said, "How about we don't get worked up until we know for certain what's going on?"
Footsteps crunched behind us. We turned. Kit came to a dead halt when he saw us. Abruptly, he turned around, walked away. Angry women terrified him, and Maria was fuming.
"There's no need to get upset when we don't know if there's anything to get upset over."
"She's obviously seduced him. Men are weak."
"Look," I said, holding up Maria's left hand. A huge three-carat diamond set in platinum dwarfed her ring finger. "Would Nate give this absolutely gorgeous ring to anyone he wasn't planning happily-ever-after with?"
She held her hand out so the diamond could sparkle in the sunshine. A serene smile came over her face. Crisis averted as she beamed at the ring. "It is beautiful, isn't it?" I sighed. "Stunning."
She obviously missed the mockery in my voice since she said, "Yes, yes it is."
"Why don't you go home?" I suggested. "Take a long bath, do that waxy thing you do to your hands—"
"Paraffin." She said it as though I was an imbecile.
"Paraffin and relax. I'm sure Nate will be calling to check in any minute now."
She pouted. "You think?"
"I know."
"Maybe you're right." She examined her long fingers. "My hands are a little dry. The heat, you know."
"Yeah, the heat." I ushered her toward her car, trying to keep my own hands hidden. They were chapped and cracked and rough from years of playing in the dirt. "Listen," I said, "I've got to get back to the office, then I'm running Riley to work, but after that I can grab Ana and come by, maybe bring a movie with us."
This was a huge sacrifice. Maria loved horror movies— the kind that usually gave me heebies for weeks. "Don't you have your fitting tonight?" she asked.
Damn. I was hoping she wouldn't remember. "Oh, is that tonight?"
Her stiletto heel punctured the ground as she stomped again. "Nina! The wedding is next Saturday. You must— must!—get your dress fitted. Tonight. Armande is doing us a big favor by keeping the shop open."
Oh yes. Wouldn't want to upset Armande, would I? I bit back a groan and a comment about there not being a wedding if Nate didn't show up. I didn't want her to freak out again. However, I indulged in some mental math: A wedding minus a groom equaled no need for me to get a dress. This could be a prime example of my father's silver lining theory. "I'll be there," I said.
She batted her long eyelashes. "Then after that you can come by with a movie."
A night of torture, that's what this would be.
She cooed as she opened her car door. "You're going to love your dress. It's perfect for you." "I can just imagine."
As I stepped into my office, I found Tam seated in her huge red rattan chair, hole puncher gripped tightly, and looking more than a bit frazzled.
When I spied the group of men in the waiting area, I knew why. There were seven of them sitting there, each with one leg folded across the other, reading an assortment of magazines—everything from Home & Garden to Highlights for Children to Reader's Digest.
They looked fresh out of a Stepford movie. Almost identical, they appeared to be mid- to late thirties, had buzz cuts, were freshly shaven, and wore colorful variations of oxford shirts and Dockers. A shiver ran down my spine.
Tam came up behind me. "I told you they were scary," she whispered.
"I see what you mean."
I was desperate for help, what with Maria's yard and all the other jobs I had lined up for the summer. But by the looks of this lot, I needed to keep looking. The whole bunch of them together looked like they weighed less than Kit. I had to wonder what their arrest records were. Had they all gotten out of hand at a geek convention? Honest to goodness, three of them had pocket protectors.
Tam shifted nervously. "Should I send them all away?"
"No, I'll talk to them. Ana must have had some reason for sending them all here." What it was, I couldn't begin to imagine. April Fool's came to mind, but it was two months too late. "Call the first guy into my office."
"All right," she said reluctantly. "Here, take this." She pushed the hole punch into my hand.
"Why?" I asked.
Her eyebrows jumped up. "For protection, of course."
As I walked into my office, I bit back a laugh because she was perfectly serious.
Af
ter six of the seven interviews, I was wondering if Ana was playing a prank on me, April Fool's or not. Seemed most of my interviewees had been arrested for petty theft. The large company they worked for had cracked down on missing office supplies and made an example of these men who had taken home a box of paper clips here, a pen there. Now they were out of jobs, most with families to feed, bills to pay.
That instinctive maternal side of me wished I could help them all. Realistically, I didn't think I could even help one of them—and I doubted any of them could help me. I didn't have the time to train them or listen to them cry when they got their first blister.
My cell buzzed as I waited for the last man to come in. I fished it out of my backpack, groaning at the caller ID screen.
"Maria?"
Sniffle. "Still no word from him."
Trouble In Spades Page 2