Heather Webber - Digging Up Trouble

Unfortunately, I had issues with people interrogating me Digging Up Trouble

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for no apparent reason. “What are you doing here?” I asked her. Ha! Take that.

“I asked first.”

“So?”

“So? So answer!”

It was wrong toying with her like this, but I couldn’t help myself. Not with the way she stood there, five feet of quiver-ing righteous indignation. “You.”

She drew in a deep breath, held it, and then released it in a snorty way, like a bull before it charged. “I am Meredith Adams, vice president of Fallow Falls Homeowners Association. I demand to know what is going on.”

I just couldn’t help myself. I blamed it on the stress of my day. “Sorry. I only speak to presidents.” I lifted a bag of potting soil and shrugged.

She turned from valentine pink to fire engine red in two seconds flat. Her mouth opened widely, then closed again with an audible click. Pencil thin pale eyebrows dipped dangerously low as she tried hard for an evil eye. With the slight bulge, she just couldn’t pull it off.

I bit my lip hard to keep from laughing.

“Uhhnn!” she squawked, spinning on her Ann Taylor wedges. Fists pumped as she speed-walked down the sidewalk.

I was definitely going to hell.

My mood lifted, I turned, potting soil in hand. “Eee!” I screamed as a big black blur barreled down on me.

“Nina, look out!” someone yelled unnecessarily.

I didn’t even have time to brace myself before two enormous paws landed on my shoulders and pushed me backward. I tripped on the stack of potting soil sacks and fell down on the grass.

Pain radiated from my, er, backside. The sacks of soil I’d already stacked stopped my head from hitting the cement.

36

Heather Webber

Bits of soil flew everywhere as claws tore into the bag I still held onto. For dear life.

A huge tongue assaulted me, licking my face up and down, side to side.

I knew that tongue.

BeBe. Kit’s dog.

“Get her off me!” I cried, trying not to open my mouth.

Drool oozed down my face. Ewww! “BeBe, down! Down!”

This was some sort of cosmic justice, I just knew it.

A sharp whistle pierced the air. BeBe immediately re-treated and began prancing around, her tongue lolling out of the corner of her mouth. She pranced rather gracefully for an enormous 150-pound, wrinkly-faced, drooling English mastiff.

Dazed, I glanced up. Kit’s goofy grin split his whole face.

“She missed you,” he said.

Lifting my head, I saw that Jean-Claude stood behind Kit, a leash in his hands. He shrugged. “Sorry. She got away from me.”

“What’s BeBe doing with you?” I sputtered, still confused.

“Kit had me babysitting her.”

Kit snatched the leash out of Jean-Claude’s hands. “Lot of good it did me.” He attached a hook to BeBe’s collar.

“Well you didn’t tell me she’d freak out when she saw Nina.” Jean-Claude gestured to my prone body.

Tiredly, I asked, “What’s BeBe doing here ?”

BeBe lunged toward me when she heard her name. Kit’s muscles bulged as he held her back. “Daisy got an emergency call and had to drop her off.”

Daisy? I craned my neck to see down the street. “Daisy was here?”

“Thirty minutes ago,” Jean-Claude said.

“What? You saw her?”

“She’s not a ghost,” Kit snapped.

Digging Up Trouble

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“Actually, I didn’t see her .” Jean-Claude scratched his eight a.m. shadow. “I just saw the car driving away. It’s a sweet ride.”

Damn. I’d missed her!

“You better not be looking at her ride,” Kit warned, his eyes dark.

Jean-Claude had a history of stealing cars in his youth. I wasn’t so sure he’d given up the pastime. Not with his weird behavior lately.

Jean-Claude held up his hands, palms out. “What ride?”

Kit nodded.

My butt ached. I groaned and accepted Jean-Claude’s hand to help me up.

BeBe strained at her leash to get back to me. “Why bring her here? Why not leave her at home?”

Kit’s eyes widened. “By herself?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s harsh, Nina. She’s just a baby.”

A hundred-and-fifty-pound baby.

“She’s a dog.”

Kit’s face contorted in disbelief.

“Fine, fine,” I said, giving in. “Just keep her out of the yard and get back to work.”

“What am I supposed to do with her?”

I gave him a how-am-I-supposed-to-know look.

Jean-Claude cleared his throat. “I’ll watch her.”

My jaw dropped open. “Hello? You work for me . Besides, look what happened last time you watched her.”

“She was just excited to see you,” he said. “I wasn’t prepared for it. Now I am.”

Kit rubbed BeBe’s ears. They flopped back and forth. “He has a point. And if he doesn’t watch over her, I’m going to have to run her over to my mom’s.”

“Your mom lives in Lima.” Four hours away round-trip.

“Exactly.”

38

Heather Webber

“Fine,” I said, looking between the two of them. “But if I need your help, Jean-Claude, BeBe goes in the truck with the AC on. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Hmmph. Ma’am. That was twice this week. It made me want to fire him more than his recent misbehavior.

“Kit?” I asked.

“All right.” He handed BeBe off to Jean-Claude, who wrapped the leash around his wrist three times and started off down the street.

Kit looked at me. “Home alone? C’mon, Nina.”

“She’s a dog!”

With a disgusted look, he turned and headed into the backyard.

Stanley Mack, the carpenter I contracted, drove up the street, a load of lumber in the back of his truck. I waved.

I managed to work for four hours straight without any other interruptions. It was almost eleven-thirty when someone tapped me on the shoulder. “Nina Quinn?”

The woman backed up a step when I turned. I wondered if it had anything to do with me being covered in dirt. “Yes?”

“I’m Kate Hathaway. President of the Fallow Falls Homeowners Association.”

She was awfully pretty, with big blue eyes and reddish-blonde hair. “Ah. Meredith sent you.”

“Meredith is a bit high-strung.” She smiled, showing no teeth, yet it still seemed genuine. “But she means well.”

I wasn’t so sure. Not about the high-strung part—she definitely was—but about the meaning well part. I thought she rather enjoyed being bossy and demanding.

When I didn’t say anything, she went on. “I just need to make sure you have all the proper permits.”

I’d dealt with HOAs before, so I knew the drill. “They’re over here,” I said, walking her to my truck. The little ankle Digging Up Trouble

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bracelet she wore tinkled as we walked, reminding me of TBS’s chimes, which reminded me of Tam, which reminded me I hadn’t called her in the last thirty minutes to see if she was okay.

It would have to wait until I was done with Madame President.

I grabbed my clipboard and the folder where I kept important files. I was rooting through it when she said, “Does Greta know about this?”

“Greta?” I asked. The Lockharts’ dog?

“She’s rather particular.”

My hand stilled. “The dog?”

“What dog?”

“Greta?”

Her big blue eyes got even bigger. “Greta’s not—”

“Nina!” Jean-Claude yelled. “Help!”

In a blink I took it all in. The big black dog chasing the small white cat. The dog-sitter spread-eagle on the sidewalk, holding his wrist.

I dropped my papers and took off running after BeBe, who’d already disappeared into the backyard.

“BeBe,” I yelled. “Here, BeBe!”