Trouble In Bloom

by Heather Webber

  "The crew will be here in the morning with the drywall," she said.

  "I'll believe it when I see it."

  She turned, but I could have sworn I heard her mutter, "Me too."

  Never a good sign.

  I looked at my plate with longing.

  "Eat," she urged.

  "I shouldn't. It's pasta."

  "And?"

  "I'm on a low-carb diet."

  "You, chérie, do not need a diet."

  "Really? Look at this." I grabbed a love handle, jiggled.

  She gasped. "Where'd that come from?"

  I'd eaten a lot in the month before I'd sunk to the depths of self-discovery. "Cookie dough."

  Eyes wide, she snatched my plate, scraped my food into the garbage disposal. "I'll make you a salad."

  Bobby leaned over, whispered, "You look great. Better than ever."

  "You've been in the sun too much."

  "We could always skip dinner," he whispered in my ear. "Go straight to dessert."

  All I could think about was cookies and how long it had been since I'd had one.

  My cheeks flushed. Skipping dinner suddenly sounded like a great idea. I caught his eye. He winked.

  I caved. "Mom—"

  "Yes, chérie?"

  The back door opened and Riley marched in, my exhusband Kevin on his heels.

  Drats! "Never mind."

  Bobby jabbed his fork into his pasta.

  I plucked another grape. "You two are home early."

  Grunting, Riley headed upstairs.

  It had been almost seven months since I'd found lipstick on Kevin's boxers—a shade that wasn't mine. He'd moved out, but left behind the one thing I really cared about: fifteen-year-old Riley. It'd had been Kevin's idea to have Riley live with me, but it had been Riley's decision, which made me happier than I could put into words. We had our moments of strife, but overall, we'd been getting along great.

  On the whole, I was a decent stepmom. Riley's mother had died when he was a toddler, and I knew he still missed her each and every day. As much as my mother annoyed me on occasion, I couldn't imagine life without her—so I could only imagine the pain Riley had been through in his young life.

  "Smells good," Kevin said to my mother as if he was still her son-in-law.

  "Hmmph," my mother said. She still hadn't forgiven him for cheating on me.

  I'd come to terms with it, and had even kinda-sorta begun to think we could rekindle a friendship, which was why he was allowed to come into the house without knocking. Well, when he was with Riley.

  Much to my dismay, Kevin and Bobby had become friends. Friendlier on Kevin's part since Bobby had moved.

  "Since he's home, does Riley know how to play cribbage?" she asked me. "I need to learn if I'm ever going to beat Donatelli at the weekly match. A couple hours of practice should do it." Donatelli Cabrera, my next door neigh bor and quasi-grandfather. He was known for his ability to ferret out the littlest piece of gossip and dole it out at the Mill's weekly cribbage game like penny candy. "Just how late are you planning on staying?" I asked.

  She shook a ladle at me. "Are you trying to get rid of your mama?"

  "I'd never!" I forked a tomato, stared at it. Blah.

  "That's what I thought."

  "Where's Tony?" Kevin asked her, scooping chicken alfredo onto a plate.

  I took the plate away from him. There were still some limits to our friendship. "You're not staying."

  "Hmmph," he said.

  Bobby eyed the phone. "I should probably check on my grandfather."

  "Oh!" my mom cried. "How's Mac doing? I haven't spoken to him in a couple of days. How's Jasmine?"

  Jasmine was the nurse my mother had found to help care for Mac during his rehabilitation.

  "She's great, but she quit yesterday."

  My mother looked horrified. "Quit?"

  "Mac likes to touch."

  My mother's cheek twitched. A nervous tic.

  "But I'm checking into homes for him. At eighty-five, a bad hip, and no nearby relatives, it's time."

  Looking longingly at the pasta, Kevin said, "Tell him his twenty bucks is in the mail."

  "Football?" Bobby asked.

  Kevin nodded.

  "You should never bet against Mac."

  "I know that now. You could have warned me before."

  I looked between the two of them. "You know Mac?" I said to Kevin.

  "From way back."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  My mother cut into the conversation—she never liked

  being left out for long. "Tony's at school," she said, giving Kevin back his plate. She shrugged at me. "We can't let him starve."

  Kevin grinned while I said, "Yes, we can."

  "Manners, chérie."

  I speared a cucumber and gritted my teeth.

  "School?" Kevin repeated.

  "Teaching part-time." Mom ladled another scoop of sauce on his plate.

  I grinned. "Because Mom needs her space."

  Kevin's fork stopped in midair. "Her space?"

  "Exactly," I said.

  My mother gave us both the evil eye.

  Smiling, Bobby buttered a roll and kept quiet.

  Butter. Rolls. Mmmm.

  Dieting sucked.

  "Why's Riley in a mood?" I asked.

  Kevin twirled linguine. "I had to bail on dinner."

  Now that I really looked at him, I noticed dark circles hung like half-moons under his green eyes. He looked horrible. Pale skin, bloodshot eyes, wild hair. I wondered what was so important that he'd ditch Riley, but figured I didn't have the right to ask since our divorce.

  "I got called in for duty tonight," he said, as if he were now the Amazing Kreskin.

  I wondered if all my thoughts were so transparent. That wouldn't be so good. I glanced at Bobby. Nope, not good at all.

  "Who died?" my mother asked, sounding suspiciously like my cousin Ana, who had a morbid fascination with death. Ana loved hanging out with Kevin, a homicide detective.

  "No one that I know of," Kevin said, his mouth full. "I've been doing a little undercover work."

  Hah. That's what he told me when he'd actually been cheating with his partner, Ginger Ho. Er, Barlow. Detec tive Ginger Barlow. I wondered if karma was coming back around to kick her in the patooski.

  "Hey," I said to him. "Hypothetical question. If someone should receive a death threat and doesn't want to call the police, should witnesses call?"

  Both Kevin's eyebrows arched and his fork stopped halfway to his mouth, then fell out of his fingers. It landed on his plate with a clatter as he leaned back, eyed me. "Nina . . . "

  "What?" I said. "It's hypothetical."

  "Who got a death threat?" my mother cried. "Not Thad!"

  "Hypothetical," I singsonged.

  "Not you!" My mother came around the counter, pulled me into a bear hug.

  "Can't. Breathe."

  She let me go.

  "It's not me. It's hypothetical." Everyone looked at me. "Okay! Genevieve Sala got one, but she doesn't want to go to the police, and we're not sure if she sent it to herself for ratings."

  "Genevieve who?" my mother asked.

  "The new hostess of Hitched or Ditched," Bobby said, leaning against the counter.

  "I didn't know the show had a new hostess," she said.

  "Me either," Kevin said. "And actually how are you involved with that show?"

  Uh-oh.

  "They're on it!" My mother grinned. "Isn't that great?"

  "Wonderful," Kevin said, shoving his plate aside.

  I didn't think now was the time to get into the whole undercover thing with him, and I was going to kill my mother for making it seem as though we were real contestants when she knew quite well we weren't.

  "So?" I said to him.

  He knew what I was talking about. "If she won't go to the police, there's nothing much we can do."

  "Maybe that's what she's hoping for. If news leaks out to the media, rat
ings will soar."

  "You really think it's for ratings?" my mother asked.

  I nodded.

  "That's brilliant!"

  It really was. However, if anyone found out what Genevieve had done, it could be the end of the network deal.

  "What if it's not fake?" Kevin asked.

  My mother made the sign of the cross even though she hadn't set foot in a church in over thirty years.

  I was saved from answering as the back door swung open and Mr. Cabrera hobbled in, carrying a poker chip carousel. He was still recovering from a recent broken ankle, and despite the chill, he wore a short-sleeved, button-down collared shirt covered in swans that, with beaks together, created a heart shape. His on-off girlfriend, my nemesis, Brickhouse Krauss, had bought it for him. She strode in behind him. Right now they were on again.

  "Donatelli! Ursula! Glad you could make it." My mother dished up two more plates. "Where's the cribbage board?"

  Mr. Cabrera shook Kevin's and Bobby's hands, kissed my cheek, and sat on a stool at the end of the kitchen island.

  "Cribbage is so yesterday," he said, sounding like he'd been hanging out with Riley too much, which was true. Riley adored the old man.

  Brickhouse sat down next to him, clucked. She did that a lot—clucked. Like a stout, German, brick-shaped chicken.

  "Donatelli's been on a Hold 'em kick for a week now," she said.

  "Riley's been teaching me." Mr. Cabrera poured two glasses of white wine.

  Wine? There was wine around, and I hadn't self-medicated yet?

  "Pass me that, would you?" I said to Mr. Cabrera, not caring if it was on my diet or not. Priorities and all.

  "Riley's playing poker?" Kevin asked, sounding worried.

  "Mostly on his computer." I filled a wineglass to the rim.

  Bobby took the bottle from me and filled himself a glass as well.

  Kevin's eyebrows dipped. "Not for money, I hope."

  "Nah," Mr. Cabrera said around a mouthful of pasta. "I'd have heard about that."

  Brickhouse clucked. "He would. Nosiest man I know."

  "Hey!"

  She patted his arm. "Said in love, pookie."

  I tried not to toss my . . . tomato.

  Brickhouse and I had a . . . strained relationship. She'd been my high school English teacher, and we'd hated each other.

  I'd done a mini makeover of her landominium's backyard last spring and kinda-sorta set her up with Mr. Cabrera, who kinda-sorta had a way with women.

  Meaning he usually killed them.

  Not on purpose, of course. He was cursed—his girlfriends all seemed to die while dating him. Usually of natural causes. Most recently from a tragic accident. Only Brickhouse seemed immune to the curse, in fact only becoming sick when she wasn't dating Mr. Cabrera.

  Brickhouse had also been helping me out at work, filling in for Tam while she was out on maternity leave. Now that Tam was back at work part-time, Brickhouse worked for me a couple of days a week.

  Dare I say I was getting used to having her around?

  I daren't. I'd need a few more glasses of wine before I'd lose my mind like that.

  "I need to get going." Bobby set his empty glass on the island.

  "Me too." Kevin stood.

  I kept my glass with me. "I'll walk you out."

  "Aww, that's so sweet of you," Kevin said. "And here I thought I might not be welcome anymore."

  "Not you," I growled.

  He grinned.

  "Where's the kid?" Mr. Cabrera said. "Maybe he wants to play some poker with us."

  "Upstairs." I headed toward the front door, trying to keep up with Bobby, who suddenly decided he wanted to sprint.

  "Tell me the truth," I said, hugging my wineglass. "You moved to Florida to get away from my family."

  "Your family's great," he said as Mr. Cabrera's footsteps echoed on the hardwood stairs behind us.

  They were pains in my tuchkus, my family, but I loved them. "You can borrow them any time you want."

  "I'll trade you for Mac."

  "Um, thanks but no thanks." Mac was a geriatric handful.

  "That's what I thought." His gaze dropped to my lips, but he didn't lean in. After a second he turned and started down the front steps.

  I wasn't disappointed. I wasn't.

  Okay, I was.

  I watched as he got in his car and drove away.

  "Trouble?" Kevin asked from behind me.

  Turning, I glared at him. I was a good glarer-er—I'd learned it from my mother. "Don't start."

  Mr. Cabrera came downstairs. Riley came down behind him wearing a plastic red visor and enormous dark sunglasses.

  He grinned bigger than my mother every Bastille Day and shuffled cards between his hands like he'd been born at the MGM Grand. "Let's shuffle up and deal!" He strolled into the kitchen.

  I looked at Kevin. He looked at me. I think we were both seeing Riley in prison stripes playing a peanut game with a cellmate named Rosie.

  "You were saying something about trouble?" I asked.

  Kevin rolled his eyes but couldn't stop the grin. "Don't start."

  Three

  "Did you sleep with him yet?"

  Leave it to my cousin Ana, who also happened to be my best friend, to get straight to the point. I sat at my desk, played Spider Solitaire with one hand and held the phone with the other. "No."

  "Wow. You've lasted longer than I thought you would."

  "Thanks for the vote of support."

  "Look, Nina, I love you to pieces, but depriving yourself of a man, and not just any man, but Bobby 'Hubba Hubba' MacKenna? That's just crazy."

  I couldn't help but smile. "How's Dr. Feelgood?"

  My gaze wandered over to the twosome sitting across from me. Watching. Filming. It was unnerving to say the least. I was supposed to pretend they weren't there, to speak only when spoken to. I had to wonder what they were thinking, and if anyone cared about this phone call or whether I won a computer game.

  Nelson Kunkle was the name of my cameraman, Roxie Lewis my field producer. Roxie looked to be in her midtwenties. She was a bit on the chubby side, had her red hair cut Peter Pan style, and wore blue framed glasses that accentuated her bright blue eyes. Nelson, "Call me Nels," reminded me of the candlestick from Beauty and the Beast. Tall, skinny, big lips, big eyebrows, and close-set eyes.

  I fought off a yawn. I'd been up late watching Carson Keyes's report on Genevieve's death threat and how he was the only reporter behind the scenes, so stay tuned all week.

  Then I'd lain in my sofa bed, pondering (a) when I was going to get my bedroom back; (b) whether Genevieve's death threat was real; (c) if it was a valid threat, then who had sent it; and (d) if I was strong enough to keep my hands off Bobby this week. I'd barely gotten any sleep.

  "I wish you'd stop calling him that," Ana said. "His name is Johan."

  I knew his name. He'd treated Riley's sprained wrist over the summer and had been permanently attached to Ana ever since.

  It was time for an amputation, in my opinion. He was much too needy. I'd barely spent any time with my cousin at all lately.

  Talk about needy.

  This is what self-discovery had come to.

  "Well?" I said.

  She sighed. I could hear noise in the background—Ana was a probation officer and had a tiny cubicle in a small office at the courthouse. Things could get pretty rowdy once in a while. "We broke up."

  "Really?"

  "You don't have to sound so excited by it."

  "Me? Excited? Nev—"

  "I know you didn't like him."

  "Like, shmike. It's not my place—"

  "You're such a crappy liar." I heard the smile in her voice.

  "I know. What happened?"

  Her long drawn-out sigh came across the line. "Whenever I was naked I felt like he was examining me with his eyes. You know, checking my moles and stuff like that."