Heather Webber - Digging Up Trouble

If not, then there was no link between him and Greta’s death except for the accounting books.

But Dale Hathaway was a different story. I’d heard him threaten Greta myself. And it made me wonder how he’d found out Russ was his blackmailer. Had he confronted Russ?

The phone rang. Brickhouse answered.

I went back to coloring.

I loved designing bird gardens of all kinds, but especially hummingbird habitats. There was just something so special about them.

The habitat itself was going to be an island in the middle of the Alonzos’ backyard. I listed materials on a separate piece of paper as I created.

The intercom on my desk crackled. “Call on line one.”

“Who is it?” There were certain people I was actively avoiding today. My mother, for one. I couldn’t take one more construction disaster. My sister, for another. Her plans 186

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had included so much froufrou-ness, my bathroom had ended up looking like a high-priced French spa.

I was not a froufrou kind of girl.

Kevin was someone else I didn’t particularly want to talk to. I needed some space to decide how I really felt about him. Plus, since I found those letters, I felt like an idiot for suggesting that the Lockharts might have purposely planned Russ’s heart attack.

“It’s Noreen Pugh.”

I only knew one Noreen. “I’ll take it.” After a second, I picked up the phone, hit the number one on the console.

“Nina Quinn.”

“Nina, this is Noreen, Greta’s sister?”

“I’m so sorry about her death.”

I heard a sniffle, followed by a watery “Me too.”

“Do the police have any ideas what happened?”

It was wrong to pry, but I couldn’t help myself.

“No, not yet.”

“I’m sorry,” is all I could say.

She blew her nose, then said, “The police had me go through her things, but I couldn’t see anything missing. I spent quite a lot of time there so I know the place well.”

I didn’t mention the accounting books.

“I’m calling because while I was there, going through the house, a neighbor stopped by.”

“Oh?”

Had it been Dale?

“Kate Hathaway.”

“Oh?” Had Kate known Dale was being blackmailed by Russ?

“She informed me about the lawsuit, how it was still in effect. That’s why I’m calling. Did you know Russ and Greta have a daughter?”

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Conversation from the day Russ died came back to me.

Hasn’t seen his kid in ten years.

I caught myself twirling the purple pencil. I was picking up bad habits from Deanna. Back in the jar it went. “I didn’t know, no.”

“Well, it was always Greta’s dream to leave this house to Francie. That’s why she took such good care of it. The yard . . . it always embarrassed her, but Russ . . . he was cheap.”

Just reinforcement that Russ had been the one to blackmail Bill. And that Greta might have known about it.

“I’d like you to come finish the yard.”

I leaned forward. “Really?”

“As soon as possible. I don’t want Francie to lose the one thing her mother had wanted her to have. And Greta really wanted her yard done right. Pretty.” She sniffled. “You’d have made it pretty, right? Lots of color? Trees?”

“Yes. It would have been beautiful. Will be beautiful. Of course I can finish the job.”

Even if Greta had known about the blackmail, I’d been paid for the job. And Noreen’s grief more than made me want to help any way I could. Beyond that, I thought of a mother’s love for her estranged daughter, of the gift she wanted to leave her.

And I thought of my mother, who had given me the gift of my bedroom while I could still thank her.

I wasn’t so mad about the bathroom anymore.

We talked about dates and settled on Thursday. I’d somehow make it work with everyone’s schedules, including Ignacio’s.

“Would you like to see the plans? For the yard?”

“I’d love to, but I’m at Greta’s cleaning things up.”

Perfect. “I can stop by. I don’t mind the trip out there.”

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“Really?”

“Really.”

I felt a little bad because I had ulterior motives, but there wasn’t enough guilt to change my mind.

I needed to talk to Dale Hathaway.

Hanging up, I took a long look at my design. It had a ways to go, but I already adored it.

Woof!

I jumped up, ran to my door, flung it open.

Woof, woof!

“I swear she smells you,” Kit said, holding a straining BeBe by a short leash.

“I do not have a B.O. problem.”

“Never said you did.”

“But—”

“Dogs have a great sense of smell. She just knows yours.”

“Oh.” I looked around. “Where’s Mrs. Krauss?”

“Who?”

“Brickhouse Krauss?”

His eyes widened. “What’s she doing here?” Kit had worked on Mrs. Krauss’s mini. I remembered how he’d slunk away when Mrs. Krauss starting yelling, leaving me to deal with her alone, the yellowbelly. I swear his scary image was all a facade.

“Working.”

He paled. “Here?”

“Tam hired her.”

BeBe whimpered. Giving in, I moved closer and let her slobber my hand.

“Nina, I don’t know—”

“She’s actually been . . . okay. It’ll be fine. And it’s just for a few months, until Tam is back.”

The phone rang and BeBe went crazy. Brickhouse came Digging Up Trouble

189

hurrying in the side door, carrying a trash can. BeBe worked herself into a frenzy.

Brickhouse glared at BeBe, pointed a finger. “Anschlag!”

BeBe stopped barking, cocked her head.

“Sitzen Sie!”

BeBe sat.

My jaw dropped.

Brickhouse answered the phone. “This is Taken by Sur -

prise, Garden Designs, Ursula speaking . . . Do you think that’s wise? Well, I don’t. You, young man, need to get your life in order. Prioritize. Make some hard decisions and stick to them.”

Kit’s mouth dropped open.

“See that you do,” Brickhouse said, then hung up.

“What?” she asked when she looked at us.

“Who was that?”

“Jean-Claude’s not going to be able to make it in today.

He apologizes.”

“You need to fire him, Nina,” Kit said.

Mrs. Krauss clucked again, jabbed Kit in his chest. “Have you never had troubles? Have you never needed help? Have you?”

Kit didn’t back down. “Of course.”

“Right now that boy has no help. He has troubles and he’s trying to do it his way. Soon enough he will see that all he has to do is ask, and he will see who his true friends are.”

“Did he tell you what kind of trouble he’s in?” I asked. All I could see was Jean-Claude on the corner in the Blue Zone doing God knows what.

“He did.”

I prodded. “Well?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”

I blinked. She stared.

I wasn’t going to win this battle, so I said, “I’m going out 190

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for a while. Kit, I need you to organize everyone, including Jean-Claude. We’re going to be finishing the Grabinsky yard on Thursday.” At his look, I added, “I’ll explain later.”

BeBe sidled up to Mrs. Krauss, sat obediently at her feet.

“We’ll also discuss BeBe later.”

I grabbed my backpack and headed for the door. As the chimes rang out, I heard Kit say, “How’d you do that? With BeBe?”

Mrs. Krauss said, “It’s all in the tone. Did those tattoos hurt? I’m thinking about getting one on my—”

I covered my ears and ran for my truck. I didn’t want to know.

Deep purple-blue circles lurked under Noreen’s Sally Jesse glasses, and I swear she’d lost weight because she didn’t look as potato as before.