Heather Webber - Digging Up Trouble

The accounting books sat on the seat next to me, in between a terra cotta pot and a roll of Mentos. I reached for the Mentos and tried to decide what to do about those books.

Technically, they belonged to Bill. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that Russ had been suspicious of them in the first place. Had Bill been swindling Growl? Had Russ found out?

And instead of calling him on it, he turned to blackmail?

It didn’t make sense to me. Why not just go to the police?

That way Bill would be out of the picture for good, and Growl would be all his.

The accounting books slid on the seat. Suddenly I remembered something Lindsey had said.

That Greta had been a bookkeeper when she’d met Russ.

Was she still? For Growl?

That would explain the old-fashioned accounting books, rather than a computer program.

Who to ask? Who to ask?

I could call Bill, but after the heebie-jeebies I’d gotten from him the other day, I didn’t think he’d be too open to any of my questions.

Lindsey? I doubted she knew much of what happened at Growl.

Noreen. She’d know, what with working at Growl and being Greta’s sister and all. I called her house before I realized she was still at the Grabinskys’. I dialed 411 for the number there, but learned it had already been disconnected.

I called her house again, this time leaving a message asking her to call me back when she got in.

As I drove toward the office, I played with what ifs.

What if Greta was Growl’s bookkeeper and had found an accounting error? Would she tell Russ about it? Or use it to her advantage?

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Maybe blackmailing Bill was her way of getting out from under his control. A way to get what she wanted without having to deal with Russ at all.

In each case of blackmail, both Bill’s and Dale’s, Greta was the person getting something out of the deal.

And what if she knew having a backyard makeover would send Russ into cardiac arrest? Had that just been icing?

It was a lot of supposition and speculation and not enough facts. And it left wide open the biggest question of all.

What happened to Greta?

I turned a corner too fast, and the accounting books slid my way. I caught them before they went over the edge of the seat.

One of the books opened, and as I stopped at a red light, I scanned the numbers and columns, all of it jibberish to me.

My inner voice nagged that I should hand them over to the police. They might be evidence.

Might.

There was one way to know for sure.

Tam.

She’d done my accounting before business skyrocketed and I’d hired out. She’d probably be able to decipher the books, let me know if there was anything hinky in them.

I called her immediately.

She didn’t bother with niceties. “It’s on the news. The death of Greta Grabinsky. They mentioned TBS.”

I groaned.

“Maybe you’re jinxed. Just like your neighbor.”

Oh my God. She was right. I was jinxed like Mr. Cabrera.

People kept dying around me, left and right.

“Maybe you need to move. Get away from him.”

And leave Aunt Chi-Chi’s house? The Mill? I couldn’t. I loved it there.

198

Heather Webber

“It’s all a coincidence, that’s all.”

Oh no. I’d gone and broken a commandment.

“Jinxed.”

“Tam!”

“Oh, all right. It’s a coincidence,” she said, clearly not believing it.

Time to change the subject, before Tam had a real estate agent at my door and my house on the market. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m bored to death,” she said. “I’m missing TBS. Someone is keeping your desk orderly and stocking the fridge, right?”

I had no idea. “Yeah.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“I’d never.”

She sighed. “It’s lonely out here. The hospital was much more fun. People always dropping by. Thanks for sending your mom, by the way. She’s a blast.”

I did have a pretty good mom, on the whole. “I’m glad I could share.”

“How’s Ursula doing?”

“BeBe likes her.”

“BeBe likes everyone.”

“She’s fine,” I said. “She’ll do until you get back.”

“Aww. I just got warm and fuzzied.”

“How bored are you?” I asked.

“I just finished alphabetizing the spice rack. Why do you ask? Do you have something you need me to do?”

The eagerness in her voice made me smile. “I might.” I explained about the accounting books.

“I’m your girl. Bring them by.”

“You sure you’re up to it?”

“Nina, don’t make me beg.”

“All right. Let me check on Riley and I’ll be up, and I can stay for a while.” I hated thinking Tam was lonely.

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“Is he working, by any chance?” she asked.

“No, why?”

“I’m craving something earthy. Growl does a great earthy.”

“Yuck!”

“Don’t knock it till you try it.”

“How about I stop there and bring you something. What do you want?”

“Surprise me. But nothing that’s going to kill me.”

“I didn’t kill those people! Besides, if I were jinxed, you’d be long gone by now.”

“True enough. All right. Thanks. Hospital food isn’t my favorite.”

Really, it was the least I could do. I just hoped Tam could shed some light on Growl’s finances, and if they could possibly be a motive for murder.

Twenty-Three

By Wednesday afternoon I hadn’t heard from Tam. I’d left her the night before with the books, a large bowl of Asparagus Delight, and a Dandelion Fritter.

I spun in my swivel chair and looked out the window behind my desk onto the garden showcase beyond. Despite the beauty of the cottage garden and the water garden, my gaze always went to the xeric garden. I zeroed in on a yucca as I thought about Greta and Russ, Bill and Lindsey, and Growl.

From the get-go, a partnership between two complete polar opposites seemed doomed. Then why go into it?

What had they each gotten out of it?

Russ got the restaurant he’d always wanted.

And Bill? What had he been in it for? Money?

I spun back to my desk, looked at the design for the hummingbird garden. I’d spent most of the morning surfing the Net for just the right accessories. I’d printed out pictures and was doing my best to replicate them onto the design board, using paints.

Little tubes of water colors covered my desk, and I used a paper plate as a palate. I mixed yellow, orange, and brown until I came up with an acceptable bronze color.

I glanced at the phone. I hadn’t heard from Kevin.

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Or Bobby, for that matter.

When would I stop lumping the two of them together?

By the time I looked up from painting, it was four-thirty.

Riley had to be at work at five.

I cleaned up, made sure everything was ready for the morning, and said good-bye to Brickhouse, the only one left in the office.

I hated to say it, but she was an excellent temp. She’d even managed to get Jean-Claude in on time that morning. How, I had no idea.

Riley was pacing the front porch when I pulled in. He jumped in the car before I even came to a complete stop.

“Sorry I’m late,” I said.

“You’re not.”

“Not what?”

“Late.”

I must have looked confused because he said, “I told you I had to be at work at five, but it’s actually five-thirty. That way I’d get to work on time. For a change.”

“That’s sneaky.”

“It worked.”

I didn’t want to know how long he’d been playing that game with me.

I pulled into Growl’s parking lot and was surprised to see the Beast, aka Mr. Cabrera’s 1970 Pontiac LeMans, parked there until I remembered Mr. Cabrera and Boom-Boom had made plans to stop by.