Heather Webber - Digging Up Trouble

“What?”

“I really can’t have you working here anymore. Actually, you haven’t been working much at all. The others have been covering for you for too long. And it’s dangerous to have you working when you’re so tired all the time. Some of the equipment—”

“Nina, please, you can’t fire me.”

My stomach hurt. “I really don’t have a choice.”

Digging Up Trouble

9

“I need the money,” he said, leaning forward, over the table.

“ I need you to work for the money.”

“I will. Just give me another chance.”

“Jean-Claude, this is about your hundredth chance.”

“Please, Nina.”

This all went back to me being a sucker for a sob story. I hated turning down someone in need. “Why do you need the money so badly?”

He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes and rubbed.

“Family trouble.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“I’d rather not. It’s embarrassing.”

I looked out the conference room door, saw Tam sitting, listing left like a sinking boat, her ear cocked. She rarely missed much of what went on around here.

“You’re not doing drugs are you?”

I heard a scraping noise from the wall behind me and had the feeling Kit, Deanna, Coby, and Marty were listening through the vent.

“What? No! I don’t do that.”

My eyebrow arched.

“Anymore,” he put in.

The chimes on the front door startled me. My head snapped up.

She was here.

I gathered my files, stood up.

Jean-Claude glanced at me with big puppy dog eyes.

“Please, Nina?”

Be strong, I told myself. “We’ll talk about this later.”

All right, so I copped out. But I really needed more information before I could fire him. Right?

Ugh.

I hated firing people.

10

Heather Webber

As I walked out of the conference room, I heard scrambling from next door. I couldn’t help but smile. At least I wasn’t the only nosy one in the office.

“Lindsey,” I said, holding out my hand to the tall winsome woman who’d just come in.

“Hi, Nina. Ready for me?” she asked as we shook.

I nodded as I led her into my office. Lindsey Lockhart.

Leah’s sister.

Leah Quinn. Who happened to be Riley’s mother. My soon-to-be-ex-husband Kevin’s first wife.

The one who mysteriously died.

The one I knew nothing about.

Yet.

Two

I set the design board for the Lockharts’ yard on an easel and sat in my swivel chair. “We just had our fi-nalization meeting. Everything’s on track.”

“That’s great,” she said, her light eyes wide and bright as she stared at the board. “Everything looks just beautiful. I love those colors. The blues and whites are so soothing.”

She had long brown hair, blonde highlights, and Riley’s widow’s peak. I wondered if her sister had had it too.

Leah Quinn had died long before I met Kevin, and in the eight years I’d been married to him, I’d never seen a single picture of the woman.

Riley must have her eyes. Kevin’s were a dark green and Riley’s were midnight blue.

“Thanks again for doing this, Nina. I know the yard is a mess.”

An understatement if I’d ever heard one. The Lockhart yard . . .

I shuddered.

It was going to take a solid half day to excavate, even with Ignacio’s crew’s help. I made a mental note to confirm with Dexter Trucking that the extra dump trucks I hired would be at the site on time.

12

Heather Webber

“When we—I mean I . . . When I found out through Riley about TBS, I couldn’t believe my luck. It was just such perfect timing. I know it will be a tough job, though.”

The “we” included Bill Lockhart, Lindsey’s husband, who was the surprisee of this makeover.

“I’m always game for a challenge,” I said. “Plus, we’re practically family.” When Riley had come to me, telling me that his aunt was interested in a makeover, I’d been fairly giddy. Finally, someone who knew the whole story about Leah’s death.

When I saw the yard for the first time three weeks ago, I’d nearly backed out. My nosiness wasn’t worth the trouble it was going to take to get the Lockhart job done in one day.

Then I’d thought of Riley. Of how happy he’d been lately.

And I couldn’t say no.

“How’s Riley doing?” she asked.

“Pretty good. He really likes his job. Thanks for setting that up. He couldn’t wait to get away from bagging groceries.”

Lindsey laughed. “I don’t know if flipping tofu burgers is a big step up, but Bill loves having him around.”

Lindsey’s husband Bill was the co-owner of Growl, a fast food restaurant featuring healthy alternatives. Riley had ap-plied for a job there after one particularly horrifying afternoon at his old job as a grocery bagger when he’d been forced to triple bag someone’s order; hit a car with a cart while on lot duty; and had his sneakers soaked in egg yolk when a plastic bag tore open, dumping out a carton of eggs. He’d quit that afternoon. It probably didn’t help that he and his girlfriend Katie had broken up the night before.

He was still pouting over that, but it had been a month since he’d started his new job, and I hadn’t heard a single com-plaint. Well, that wasn’t true. Bill’s business partner was apparently a micromanager, but after Riley learned that his uncle Digging Up Trouble

13

Bill was in charge of the restaurant Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturday nights, he’d changed his schedule.

All had been peaceful in my household lately.

Which was somewhat disturbing.

My house was rarely peaceful.

Not with having a fifteen-year-old living with me. Plus, my divorce from Kevin was in its final stages. Oh, and let’s not forget my dysfunctional family. Between Ana, my sister Maria, and my parents . . .

This was clearly the calm before the storm.

Lord help me.

“What kind of trees are these?” she asked.

“These two,” I said, pointing, “are Bradford pears. Nice pear shape and beautiful white blossoms in the spring. This is an ash. Fairly quick grower, lots of shade, and pretty yellow gold foliage in the fall.”

“It all looks so beautiful.”

“Can I ask why you’ve let the yard go all these years?” I’d been dying to ask.

Her small upturned nose scrunched. “Honestly, it’s just one of those things. Surely, you understand.”

Not really. I couldn’t imagine having what looked like a third world jungle for my backyard. But hey, that’s me.

“I don’t know if we’d be doing it at all if it weren’t for the lawsuit.”

I perked up, leaned over my stained desk blotter. “Lawsuit?”

“Neighborhood HOA. Homeowners’ association.”

My eyes went wide. “Really?”

“Really. The fines from not fixing the yard mounted and, well, Bill, he, um, is stubborn and, well . . . here I am.”

My eyebrows twitched. Something didn’t sound right.

Lindsey tsked. “Poor Greta.”

14

Heather Webber

“Greta?”

“Oh! Um, our dog.”

“Your dog? What’s that have to do with the lawsuit?”

She shifted in her chair. “I just meant that even without the lawsuit, it was past time to get the yard done. Greta barely has any room to move out there.” Her hands fluttered.

“Plus, the ticks. You know.”

I fell back against my chair. My eyebrow started twitching again. My eyebrows were my secret weapon against load-of-bull stories. If the twitching was any indication, Lindsey was seriously shoveling me a line.

Why?

“Ticks,” I repeated.

“All that long grass.” Her head snapped to the design board. “Is that a fire pit?”