Weeding Out Trouble

by Heather Webber

  "They didn't find—"

  "No, they didn't search the premises, but I've been proactive. Until this all blows over, I've moved my growing operation to another location."

  I thought maybe, just maybe, I ought to give Pippi's name to Ian, then decided against it. Though Ian wasn't above bending the rules from time to time, I couldn't imagine he'd be able to let Pippi's greenhouse thrive.

  "Pippi, do you know if Daisy was involved in other forms of alternative therapy? Other illegal forms," I clarified, wiggling my eyebrows for added effect.

  "Oh my. Oh dear. Not to my knowledge. Is that possible?"

  "It's just a guess at this point."

  Her thin lips set. "You ought to speak with Randall."

  "Randall Oh?"

  "You know him?"

  "No. He's on my list of people to talk to."

  "It's your lucky day. He's"—she stood on tiptoe—"right over there." She pointed to a young Asian man dressed in a really bad blue suit.

  "Could you introduce me?" I asked.

  "Sure thing." Throwing bony elbows, she started forward. Over her shoulder she added, "I'm going to miss Daisy."

  "What was she like, really like?" I asked. "I keep getting mixed messages."

  Pippi slowed to a stop, turned to face me. "Tough as nails. She had a lot of walls built up around her. Beneath the hard exterior, there was a heart of gold. Very few ever saw it, however, because she rarely let her guard down."

  The description reminded me a lot of Kit. For the first time I could see what had attracted him to her, besides her natural beauty.

  "You either loved her or hated her. There was little in between. Come," Pippi said, clamping onto my arm again. "Oh, and Nina? There's something you should know."

  "What's that?"

  "Randall and Daisy despised each other." With that she stormed ahead, leaving me in her wake, reeling with the shock of her statement.

  Randall Oh zeroed in on us as we neared. I thought I saw a flash of panic sweep through his dark eyes.

  Pippi barreled up. "Randall!" She hugged and air-kissed his cheeks. "I'm surprised to see you here."

  "Decorum, Pipster."

  Pipster? I smiled despite myself. It was a cute nickname.

  "I'm not a cruel and heartless bastard, Pips. Just because Daisy and I didn't see eye-to-eye doesn't mean I'm glad she's gone. No one deserves what she got." His hand shot out to mine. "I'm Randall Oh."

  He stood an inch or two taller than my five-five and looked to be in decent shape. His hand was clammy.

  "Nina Quinn," I said.

  "I know. You're my hero. Daisy hated you."

  "I've heard," I mumbled.

  "Really?" Pippi exclaimed. "Who could hate you?"

  "I could give you names."

  Randall laughed, loud and boisterous. People turned, stared. He covered his mouth and lowered his eyes sheepishly.

  "How's Ming these days?" Pippi asked him. "She hasn't been to book club in a while."

  "She's fine. Fighting another cold. I think she's milking it. She wants me to move back in with her. As if. I already feel like I'm there more than I am home."

  "She is getting older," Pippi said.

  "Et tu, Pips?"

  She laughed, then poked him with her elbow. "Nina was hoping to have a minute with you, to talk about Daisy. And her, ahem, freelance work."

  Part of me wondered why we didn't just come out and say what we were talking about. Seemed to me most people in this room knew the truth.

  Again, I saw a smidgen of fear sneak into Randall's eyes as they darted to the exit. It wouldn't be easy to get away, and he must have known it because he said, "Now?"

  "If you've got a minute. It won't take long."

  He checked his watch, glanced at the casket, shivvied a bit, then said, "Okay."

  Pippi led the way to the door, elbows flying. She had the tactic down to a science.

  I needed to take notes.

  Out in the lobby, she settled onto a wooden bench. Randall sat next to her, his badly cut blue suit pulling tight across his body. He twirled his thumbs as if nervous.

  My inner voice asked, Why?

  I informed it I was going to find out. I kept my voice low as I said, "There's no real delicate way of asking this . . . "

  The Match Game theme song filled the air. I cursed the timing as I fumbled through my bag.

  "Sorry," I said to Pippi and Randall, "it's my son's school."

  "Take it, take it," Randall urged, looking pleased over the reprieve.

  I answered to find the school nurse on the other end. "Mrs. Quinn, I have Riley here in the clinic."

  The faker! He just wanted to get a day off to make up for the lost snow day. I was sure of it.

  "He's running a 103 degree temperature, his throat is red, and he has an upset stomach."

  Or maybe not.

  "Are you available to pick him up, Mrs. Quinn?"

  Grr, I hated the Mrs. Quinn. I should have gone back to my maiden name after the divorce. Hindsight is evil.

  I looked at Randall, at Pippi. I didn't want to leave just yet. But Kevin couldn't drive. Bobby was playing poker. That left my mother or Brickhouse. "Could I call you right back?"

  I heard a loud exhale. There went my Stepmother of the Year award. "Fine."

  I stepped closer to the outer door, called home. No one answered. I dialed my mother's cell. Again no answer. I called Brickhouse and Mr. Cabrera. No one was there either.

  Fabulous.

  Snapping my phone closed, I pulled myself together and wandered back over to the bench. "I'm sorry, but I need to leave."

  "Nothing serious?" Pippi asked.

  "I hope not." To Randall, who looked much relieved, I said, "Could we meet? For coffee?"

  "Sure," he agreed, and jotted down his phone number.

  I headed for the door and turned to wave good-bye. That's when I saw Kent standing in the viewing room doorway, staring at the three of us, murder in his eyes.

  Fifteen

  The look in Kent's eyes had chilled me to the bone. I couldn't seem to get warm, no matter how high I turned up my truck's heater.

  I took solace in the fact that Lewy and Joe were right behind me, lurking like a dark cloud on a sunny day. Except for a change I was glad to see them. If Kent truly was of a murderous mind, I was safe for the time being.

  Or so I hoped.

  Lewy and Joe didn't exactly inspire feelings of safety and security.

  The roads were wet with melted snow, and the car in front of me kicked up enough water that I flipped on my wipers.

  The back and forth motion soothed me as I thought about Daisy and her murder.

  I went back to the conversation I'd had with Perry on Saturday. About motives.

  Yes, I supposed Kit had a motive, thanks to Kent, but Kit didn't kill Daisy.

  He wouldn't. Couldn't.

  Now, I could see Kent killing whoever crossed his path. But why? Had he been jealous of Kit? Or . . . Kent had said he met Daisy through work. His or hers?

  Suddenly I wondered if they were one and the same.

  Kent had said, "I'm a chef of sorts."

  Suddenly, something Ian said popped into my head. Corazón is local to this area. We've been trying to track down the supplier and manufacturer for months now.

  Was it possible Kent was the manufacturer?

  I quickly called Tam and asked a huge favor. One I hoped she didn't share with Ian.

  She agreed and promised to get back to me within an hour.

  I thought again about what Kent had said about Daisy. About how she'd been killed doing what she thought was right.

  What she thought. Not what was right.

  If—and it was just speculation at this point—Daisy wanted out of the drug business, and Kent manufactured the Ecstasy Daisy doled out, then he'd have plenty of motive to kill her.

  My one problem with that theory was that I believed him when he said he'd loved her. Would he have chosen money over love?
Was he that ruthless?

  The answer was a quick yes.

  I didn't rule out Randall Oh's involvement either. I had a lot of questions I wanted to ask him. If he'd truly worked closely with Daisy, he would know all her secrets. He'd know for certain if she was dabbling in other illegal drugs. He'd know if Kent Ingless was her supplier. He'd know who might have a motive for killing her.

  I couldn't forget that Randall and Daisy had been enemies. What had caused a rift between the two?

  One thing I knew for sure: It would be foolhardy for me to meet with him alone. As of now, everyone was a suspect in my mind. Just because my first impression of Randall had been a good one didn't mean I should trust my instincts.

  As I knew quite well, my instincts were often wrong.

  Dead wrong.

  I pulled up in front of Riley's high school and walked into the office to sign in. A weird sense of déjà vu came over me. This is where I'd first met Bobby, when he was Riley's principal. It seemed like a lifetime ago, yet it had only been seven months.

  So much had changed.

  "Do you know where the clinic is?" the receptionist asked.

  I didn't recognize her, and was glad Bobby wasn't working there anymore, as she was young and cute and curvy in all the right places.

  A girl could get seriously jealous.

  "Yes, thanks."

  I backtracked out of the office and walked into the clinic just in time to see Riley bend over and toss his cookies into a bedpan.

  My stomach heaved.

  I'd never been good with cookie-tossing.

  The nurse wore a look on her face that told me she truly was the best person for her job. It was a mix of compassion and sympathy as she offered Riley a cool towel.

  They both looked up at me, and the nurse had me sit immediately, worried about the lack of color in my face.

  "I'm all right." I rose after a minute or two, testing my legs. "Thanks."

  "You look worse than me, Nina," Riley said.

  "Nina?" said the nurse, returning from rinsing Riley's pan. "This isn't your mom?"

  I sat back down. There was only so much I could take in one day.

  "Stepmom," Riley mumbled.

  "Oh," the nurse said. "That makes sense. I was thinking you were too young to have a son Riley's age."

  I wanted to lean over and kiss her. I might have to make her my new best friend. I was sure Ana wouldn't mind.

  "You just made my day. And trust me, it needed to be made. You ready?" I asked Riley.

  "What's with the dress?" he asked. "Is that Grandma Cel's? No, can't be. She has better taste."

  The nurse snickered.

  Suddenly, she was off my list for new best friend.

  I stood again. "You're awfully chatty for someone so sick."

  "You need to burn that thing, Nina," he said, wobbling to his feet.

  "So I've heard." I took hold of his arm. Amazingly, he didn't pull away.

  "You better take this." The nurse handed over the bedpan. "Just in case."

  "You're not going to get sick in my truck, are you?" I asked, feeling the color drain from my face.

  "Depends."

  "On?"

  "Whether you start driving like Maria or Ana." Maria, my sister, was a notoriously bad driver. And Ana was worse.

  "I'll do my best." I tried not to notice how his hot skin scorched my fingers. "Do you have a coat?"

  "No."

  "A hat?"

  "No."

  "Gloves?" I ventured.

  "No."

  "No wonder you're sick."

  "I'm a man," he said in a boastful voice. "I don't need no coat."

  "No, just tutoring from Brickhouse."

  "If I wasn't so sick, I'd give you attitude."

  "Wait. Let me count my blessings." I helped him into the truck, thrust the pan at him.

  There was no sign of Lewy and Joe. Wonder where they'd snuck off to?

  "So, really, why the dress?" Ry asked once I set the truck into gear.

  "Daisy's viewing."

  When he didn't say anything else, I glanced over at him.

  His lips were rough around the edges and had turned a dark red, something that happened every time he had a fever.

  Poor kid. "You okay?"

  "Do I look it?" he snapped.

  "Whoa, what happened to no attitude?"

  "I lied."

  His mood swing shouldn't have taken me by surprise, but it did.

  The silence stretched. It wasn't uncomfortable, yet I felt as though there was a bit of tension in the air. I couldn't figure out where it stemmed from until Riley said, "All Kit was doing was trying to help her, and this is the thanks he gets."

  Ah.

  Riley and Kit had become best buds since Kit moved in with us. Riley looked up to him, and I was glad for the role model. Kit was hardworking, loyal, and an all-around good man. His appearance fooled many people, but those who took the time, treasured the man beneath the scary surface.

  Riley had taken the time.

  "He'll be okay," I said.

  "How do you know?"

  "Faith. Faith that good triumphs over evil."

  He rolled his eyes. "That makes me want to throw up again."

  "Just not in my truck, okay? And it's true, whether it's hokey or not."

  "It's hokey."

  I took a deep breath. Dealing with a teenager took special skills. One of them was deep cleansing breaths. It was the only way to get through a conversation.

  I was on breath number six when what Riley had said sunk in. "Do you know what Kit was doing to help Daisy?"

  Kit and Riley spent a lot of time together, and Riley was sneaky. He could have seen or heard specifics.

  Riley shrugged. He had it down to an art form.

  "If you know anything, Riley, you should tell me. Kit needs all the help he can get right now."

  "I don't know much."

  Not wanting to push, I kept quiet.

  A minute went by. I could tell he was wrestling with being loyal to Kit and trying to help him at the same time. Finally he said, "Kit told me that sometimes it's important to help people even when they don't want the help."

  "That's true."

  "I overheard one of their conversations once. About how Daisy was in danger. She kept saying that if he helped her, he'd be in danger too."

  Sounded similar to the conversation I'd overheard between the two.

  "Daisy wanted to do it on her own."

  "Do what?"

  "I don't know. It had something to do with some guy named Kent, and about someone named Cora?" He said this last part as a question, as if he wasn't quite sure.

  "Corazón?" I repeated.

  "Yeah, that's it. I remember now because it reminded me of Corona beer."

  I shot him a look.

  "What? I watch TV."

  Great. Now I was going to have to lock up all the liquor in the house.

  "Kit knew I'd been listening. Told me not to tell anyone what I'd heard."

  "I'm sure he doesn't mind you telling me."

  He said nothing.

  I wanted to feel him out, see exactly how much he knew. "Listen, do you know what Daisy and Kit were talking about? With the Corazón?"

  He shook his head. "All I kept thinking about was beer."

  Yep. Definitely locking up the alcohol.

  This stepmothering thing wasn't as easy as it seemed.

  "Corazón is Spanish for heart," I said. "And it's also a type of Ecstasy."

  As he looked at me his lips flamed, his face paled. "I don't understand," he said. "What's Corazón have to do with Kit and Daisy?"

  "I don't know." Kent's murderous glare came to mind. "But I intend to find out."

  I turned onto my street and slowed as I neared my house. A large group of people had gathered on my driveway.