Weeding Out Trouble

by Heather Webber

  "Hi," I said brightly, as if I were there selling cookies and not asking about murder. "I know you don't know us, but I'm Nina Quinn, this is Perry, and this is Ursula." I smiled in a friendly we're-not-serial-killers kind of way.

  Piercing black eyes focused on me. "Jesus."

  He'd said it in a tone that would earn him penance from Father Keesler at St. Valentine's.

  "I know who you are," Kent said to me.

  Perry held up his offering. "I brought cannoli."

  Kent Ingless fisted a hand, released it.

  I fidgeted. "We just want to ask you a few questions."

  "About Kit?" he asked through clenched teeth.

  "I knew you looked to be a man of intelligence," Brick

  house said, brushing past him into the house without an invitation.

  Perry followed.

  Kent looked at me, something dark and dangerous in his eyes. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and I thought maybe grabbing Perry and the cannolis and getting the heck out of Dodge might be the wisest decision.

  Brickhouse could fend for herself.

  "We could come back another time," I mumbled.

  "But you're here now," he said so sweetly that it reminded me of the witch luring Hansel and Gretel into the gingerbread house. "Come in out of the cold."

  If he so much as cackled, I was out of there.

  "Um, thanks." Inside, welcoming scents of vanilla and sage filled the air. Though dark, because all the drapes had been drawn, the house had a cozy air about it, completely at odds with the doom and gloom vibe I picked up from Kent.

  Perry had set his plate on the coffee table, an old steamer trunk, and taken a seat next to Brickhouse on a buttercream-colored couch. I opted to sit in a wingback across from them, and Kent sat in a thickly upholstered rocking club chair that creaked with every motion.

  The fireplace offered light. The burning logs crackled and spit, each noise as loud as a freight train in the silence of the room.

  Kent made no motion to set out plates or offer drinks, and it didn't take my impeccable Clue playing skills to recognize that we weren't welcome, cannoli or not.

  I took a deep breath since no one else seemed to be starting the conversation. "First, our sympathies on Daisy's passing."

  Brickhouse clucked.

  I was glad Kent didn't know Brickhouse and probably couldn't decipher her clucks as well as I could. That was definitely a cluck of disagreement.

  I pressed on. "Kit's a good friend of ours. We're worried about him."

  "You don't think he killed Daisy?" An eyebrow arched as the chair creaked. My hair still stood on end. This guy was creepy with a capital C.

  "No, we don't," I said.

  "I see. And you're here, why?" Kent asked.

  My flight or fight instinct leaned toward flight. I fidgeted in my chair. "Honestly? Your and Daisy's relationship was news to us. We were hoping you might be able to—"

  "What?" Creak creak. "Confess?"

  I gulped. "I don't think, I don't mean, that's not what I—"

  Brickhouse was a little more straightforward. "Did you do it?"

  Creak. Slowly, enunciating each word, he said, "Do I look capable of . . . murder?"

  Perry picked this time to finally say something. "Holy hell, yes, honey. I mean, you're a mighty fine looking guy, but those eyes. I nearly wet myself sitting over here." He stood. "I'm just going to take my cannoli and wait in the car." Rushing to the door, he mumbled something about nightmares and Christopher Walken.

  Brickhouse looked at me as the door slammed. "I don't think he should be left alone. I'll be in the car too." She hustled out of the room faster than I thought a woman of her size and girth could move.

  The door slammed again.

  I was alone with Kent.

  Talk about fending for yourself.

  Again he arched the eyebrow, narrowed evil eyes. "Looks like," creak creak, "we're all alone."

  A log tumbled in the fireplace, sending sparks flying and my nerves over the edge. Perry wasn't alone—I thought maybe I might wet myself too.

  I crossed my legs, my jeans protesting, and forced myself not to be scared to death. "How did you meet Daisy?"

  "Through work." Creak creak.

  "What exactly do you do?" Besides scare the hell out of people?

  "I'm a chef of sorts."

  Of sorts? What did that mean? "I don't suppose you'd care to elaborate?"

  "No."

  "All right. How long had you two been together, you and Daisy?"

  "Six months." His rocking had slowed, each creak extending into more of a scream.

  How appropriate.

  I thought about the six months. Daisy had still been with Kit for most of that time. "Did you love her?"

  Not so much as a blink from him. "Yes."

  "Do you know who killed her?"

  Creeeeeaaaak. "No."

  "Do you know how Kit was helping Daisy? At work?"

  "No."

  Liar, liar, but he'd pass a lie-detector test easy. "Do you think Kit killed her?" I asked.

  "I don't know."

  I brought out the question I really wanted answered. "Do you think her death could be tied to the drugs she sold?"

  The chair creaked one last time as he rose. "It's time for you to leave."

  Not liking him looming over me, I jumped to my feet. "But—" I protested.

  "We're done."

  "You're hiding something," I accused, hoping he wouldn't notice my knees knocking.

  "Daisy never liked you."

  I drew in a breath. "She didn't even know me!"

  "She thought Kit was too attached to you, too loyal. She was jealous."

  "Why are you telling me this?"

  He opened the door. "Oddly, I find that I happen to like

  you, Ms. Quinn. I like your spunk, the fire in your eyes, your loyalty to your friend. I like that you want to do right by him, see justice served. Those are qualities hard to come by."

  I didn't want to know the way he treated the people he didn't like.

  "It's time for you to leave, Nina," he said in a soft, scary whisper. "I suggest you stay out of this. Daisy was killed and the same could easily happen to you."

  The threat was clear.

  I would have run to the car, but my knees were shaking too hard. Once in, Brickhouse stepped on the gas, sending the car fishtailing and snow flying.

  She straightened out and zoomed down the driveway. "He's guilty. I can sense these things. I didn't suffer through two years of Matthew de la Cruz in English Lit not to know when someone's guilty."

  "Did you see that steamer trunk?" Perry asked. "I bet there was a body in there! Don't people burn sage to ward off evil?"

  Brickhouse shifted into second when she reached the main road. "There's evil, then there's evil. No amount of sage would work on that man."

  I spotted the platter of cannoli, took its wrapper off. "Yet you left me alone with him."

  "You are woman!" Perry said, shaking a fist in the air.

  "You are chicken," I countered, biting into the cannoli.

  "Self-preservation, sugar."

  "You're lucky you brought these cannoli with you."

  I needed them. I tossed the information Kent had given me on top of everything else I was trying so hard not to think about.

  I wondered how long before it all toppled down on me.

  "Did you see those eyes?" Brickhouse asked. "Evil, I tell you." She crossed herself. When she took her hand off the wheel, the car drifted right. She yanked left to correct, and the car fishtailed, its tires losing traction. We spun in three circles, the car slipping, sliding toward a large oak tree off the side of the road. I closed my eyes and wished I hadn't eaten that cannoli.

  The crunch of metal and the sound of breaking glass shattered the eerie silence. I lurched forward, then back again as the car jerked to a halt, its front end resting against the oak's trunk. Well, smushed into the trunk would be a better description
.

  We sat there for a stunned minute. Everyone was okay, that was the most important thing. No injuries, just a little tossed and shaken.

  For some reason I thought a martini sounded good right about now.

  "Mario's going to kill me," Perry murmured.

  Neither Brickhouse nor I disputed that.

  Perry looked back at me, his gray-green eyes big and wide. "Maybe I can stay at your house?"

  I unbuckled my seat belt. "The inn's full."

  "Ach. You can stay with me," Brickhouse said.

  I thought I'd rather face Mario's wrath.

  A car pulled up alongside of us, a dark Taurus. "Oh no," I murmured.

  "How'd they find us?" Brickhouse asked.

  I groaned. "Perry, did you happen to check Mario's car for a GPS?"

  "Oops."

  Ten

  I was sandwiched in the middle of the Taurus's backseat between Brickhouse and Perry. A tow truck was called to retrieve Mario's car but hadn't arrived by the time we left the scene, and I think Perry was seriously considering staying with Brickhouse for the night.

  I thought he might need medical attention, but he shooed off offers to take him to the E.R.

  "You know," Lewy said, "driving in a level three snow emergency is against the law unless it's actually an emergency. I could take you in."

  I rolled my eyes.

  "And Nina, we warned you about interfering in our investigation."

  "I'm not investigating, Lewy. I'm asking questions."

  "Well, stop," Joe said.

  "I'll stop as soon as you start looking at other suspects. Kit didn't kill Daisy."

  Brickhouse clucked.

  Since Lewy seemed the saner of the two, I said to him, "What if Eva were accused of killing someone? And then went missing?" Eva was Lewy's wife. A sweet little thing who adored him.

  "It's not the same, Nina. Eva isn't cheating on me."

  "Kit and Daisy weren't dating anymore." I leaned for

  ward, jabbed a finger in the air. "And don't tell me that's just another motive. I don't want to hear it. There are other people who might want to kill Daisy."

  "Like who?" he asked.

  "That Kent Ingless is one scary man," Perry piped in.

  Joe flipped on a blinker. The scanner was turned down low, barely audible. Below the dash, a computer screen was lit up. I wondered when detecting had gone high-tech. "More reason for you to stop snooping. It's dangerous. Leave it to the professionals."

  "Ach. Like you two? Who prefer to follow us around in hopes we lead you to your prime suspect? What kind of detecting is that?"

  Perry slinked closer to the door. I can't say I blamed him. Brickhouse was pushing the limits.

  I was surprised when Lewy laughed. "So far, not very good."

  "Then why do it?" I asked.

  "It's my job," he said. There was something in his voice I couldn't put a finger on.

  "Then quit," I mumbled.

  Joe chuckled and said something that sounded like "Leah."

  "What did you say?" I asked. I only knew one Leah. Leah Quinn, Kevin's first wife. She died when Riley was three. Kevin met and married me five years later.

  Brickhouse turned toward me. "He said you're a lot like Leah. Who's Leah?"

  My stomach curled. For years I'd wanted to know more about Leah Quinn, but had recently decided to stop wondering about the woman Kevin married first. It wasn't healthy, and knowing wouldn't change anything. It had been pure nosiness on my part.

  "Kevin's first wife," I answered.

  "What happened to her?" Perry asked.

  "She died," Joe answered. "A long time ago."

  "How?" Brickhouse asked.

  "A boating accident on the river." My nosiness got the better of me. "You knew her well?" I asked Lewy.

  "Fairly. Through Kevin. She was a great cop."

  "Cop?" I asked.

  Lewy shifted in his seat. "You didn't know?"

  I shook my head. I'd never even seen a picture of her. "How am I like her? Do I look like her?"

  "God, no," Joe said. "She was a stunner."

  Great boost to my ego.

  "Actually, she looks a lot like G-lo," he added.

  "G-lo?" Perry asked.

  "Ginger Barlow. Kev's new—"

  Perry cut Joe off. "I know who she is."

  Joe tapped his fingers on the wheel as if in rhythm to a song only he could hear. "Could be sisters, those two."

  Lewy nodded. "Now that you say so, I can see it."

  My teeth hurt from clenching them. "So how is it we're alike?"

  "Personality," Joe said as if that was low on his list of qualities in women. "A go-getter, that Leah was."

  "Feisty," Lewy supplied.

  I wondered if feisty was a good thing.

  "Nosy," Joe said.

  Ah. Now I saw where this conversation was headed.

  "It made her a good cop," Lewy added. "The thing is, Nina, you're not a cop. Your nosiness can get you hurt. I don't want to be the one bringing that news to Kevin. I think he's been through enough lately without having to deal with all that."

  The old guilt trick.

  My mother would have been proud of these two, but it made me feel sick. I didn't belong to Kevin.

  I wondered if they'd rehearsed this little tête-à-tête just so I would fall into line and stay out of the investigation.

  And I wouldn't doubt for a minute that Kevin put them up to it.

  "And Riley," Joe said loudly. "That boy thinks of you as a mom now. Gotta be thinking about him too."

  I willed myself not to be swayed by the guilt, though I had to admit using Riley was a good tactic.

  Only this wasn't about me. Or Kevin. Or Riley. It was about Kit.

  I kept my mouth shut. There was no use arguing my case. Unless I could prove otherwise, Kit was going to jail for murder.

  The thought depressed me. I slumped back in my seat.

  In a rare burst of sympathy, Brickhouse murmured, "Ach, it'll be okay."

  Perry patted my hand, then turned his full attention to the detectives, his woes over Mario's car apparently left with the wreckage. "I want to hear more about Leah," he said, practically bouncing in his seat.

  Lewy and Joe seemed to latch on to this idea. Great.

  During the agonizing ride home, I had to endure howshe-saved-the-day stories, how-she-and-Kevin-fell-in-loveat-the-police-academy stories, her-being-pregnant stories (God, just kill me now and be done with it), and finally, after all these years, I heard the whole story of how she died.

  I cursed Mother Nature and the snow and all things that made this ride take so long.

  My stomach tossed and turned, and I was seriously regretting the cannoli. This was what I'd wanted, to hear details, to know the woman who was so much a part of Riley . . . and Kevin. But now?

  I felt sick. I didn't want to listen. It was easier dealing with the ghost of a woman I barely knew. It was another thing thinking about her as someone I probably would have been friends with.

  I wanted to block my ears and sing "Lalalalala" at the top of my lungs until Lewy finished the story of how Kevin, Riley, and Leah had been celebrating Riverfest on a friend's boat, watching the fireworks, when another boat collided with theirs, flipping it.

  Of how it had taken Kevin a few minutes to find Riley in the murky Ohio River.

  Of how Leah never surfaced.

  Of how they looked for her body for weeks, never finding it.

  Of how Kevin nearly went mad with grief.

  And of how, as his friends, Lewy and Joe never wanted to see that happen to him again.

  By the time the pair dropped us off at my house, I practically crawled over Perry to get out of the car.

  As much as I hated to admit it, the guilt was working.

  And when I walked into the house, saw Kevin sitting on the couch looking pale and drawn, bags under his eyes, with Riley next to him, with a goofy grin on his face from something his dad had said, I forgot all ab
out the things I was mad about and forced myself not to rush over and pull them both into hugs. Instead, I did the next best thing.