Authors: Heather Webber
Trouble In Bloom (2 page)
"What's that?"
"A little makeover. Something to spruce you up a bit. Make you feel better."
"It will do wonders," Mario piped in.
Ordinarily, I would have turned him down flat. But that was the old Nina. The new Nina took a second. "No way."
Perry picked up a lock of my dull brown hair. "Really?"
"Is it that bad?" I went cross-eyed trying to look at the piece he held.
Mario leaned forward, looked at me. "Yes."
"But you probably think everyone's hair is bad." He had that kind of air about him.
Perry nodded. "She's right about that."
Mario pointed at my head. "But yours especially needs help."
"Come on," Perry urged. "The makeover's on me." He slid a business card over to me. "Come in tomorrow afternoon and I'll squeeze you in. By tomorrow night you'll be one hot
mamacita
."
mamacita
."
I looked at the card: PERRY OWENS, STYLIST. He worked at Azure, a hip downtown salon I'd heard ads for on the radio.
Being a hot
mamacita
had to be good for anyone's selfdiscovery. But . . . "I can't tomorrow afternoon. Work."
mamacita
had to be good for anyone's selfdiscovery. But . . . "I can't tomorrow afternoon. Work."
"Tuesday, then?"
I hemmed. I hawed. I agreed. "All right. It's a deal." All in the name of self-discovery. I tucked his card into my backpack and leaned back in my chair as Thad stood up, paced the tiny room.
About forty, Thad didn't look like a stereotypical lowbudget game show host. No slick hair, slick smile, or slick way of talking. He was more Mr. Rogers than Wink Martindale. He had a pristine reputation, was big into charities and family. Yet, he hosted a game show with questions like, "If you and your significant other were playing strip poker, what item of clothing would your partner remove first?"
Maybe that's why Thad thrived as a host of HoD. He wasn't the norm. He brought fresh-faced sincerity to the show.
While we waited for Willie, Thad explained there would be several taped interviews while we were at the studio today, and then tomorrow, Monday morning, bright and early, we'd each meet our cameraman and field producer.
Since the show was low-budget, our houses only had one camera, in the bedroom (they'd put one in my living room, since it was currently being used as my master bedroom). The installation process hadn't bothered me all that much. What were a few more holes in the walls of my house when half my living room ceiling was missing due to a leak in the upstairs master bath?
I was having serious construction issues. Absentee workers, mostly. I could only imagine what my mother had done to scare them away. She was currently in charge of the remodeling, and I debated firing her. Not that I'd hired her, but still. Enough was enough.
Thad stopped pacing, put his hands on the back of a chair belonging to a blonde production assistant who'd been making eyes at Bobby the whole time we'd been sitting there.
I tried not to jump across the table and strangle her. I told myself she should be grateful for my new self and accompanying newfound restraint.
Thad's voice rose and fell as he spoke. "During the week, online votes from home viewers will be tallied and will ultimately determine who should be hitched and who should be ditched. On Friday night, everyone will meet back here for the results show, which will be broadcast live."
Raised voices carried through the door. We all quieted as Willie Sala loudly told his new wife to mind her own business, and she told him she'd damn well do what she pleased.
So much for newlywedded bliss. Sounded like they were on the road to ditched.
Thad cleared his throat. "Okay, people. That's it for now."
One of the crew looked at his clipboard. "Mario? You're first for the interviews. Follow me."
The room pretty much cleared out, leaving Bobby, me, and Perry alone.
Now would be a great time to question him about Jessica Ayers, but before I could, he asked, "You're here to test your relationship . . . who's having the doubts?"
"Me," Bobby and I said at the same time.
With dipped eyebrows, Perry said, "I'd say you two came to the right place."
"I think maybe she's just using me for sex, Perry," Bobby said. "I'm hoping this week will answer that question."
Perry's mouth popped open.
I glared at Bobby.
He winked at me.
Damn that wink!
I cleared my throat. "Well, he won't have to worry about me using him this week, because he'll be sleeping alone. I need a clear mind . . . for the show."
Bobby's gaze landed on my lips. "Is that so?"
Hot. In. Here.
"Yes." I cleared my throat again. "Absolutely."
"Ah." Perry laughed. "The cookie."
"Cookie?" Bobby asked.
"It's nothing," I said quickly.
There was a good chance Bobby already knew how badly I wanted him. He didn't need confirmation.
The door opened and Thad came in. He smiled and said, "Forgot some papers." He picked up a folder and looked at me. "Aren't you that landscaper? The one-day lady?"
That was me, in a nutshell. I tried not to be annoyed at the way he'd phrased it. I was supposed to be Zen about things now. When I figured out what Zen was, I'd probably be better off. "Yes."
"That's you?" Perry's eyes lit.
Afraid of what he'd heard about me, I nodded. It hadn't been admiration in his voice.
Thad rested his files on the table. "My wife would love to speak to you about a makeover for her parents next spring. She's been talking about it ever since she heard you'd be on the show."
"Have her call me." I fished a business card out of my leather backpack-style purse.
"Nina's the best there is." The pride in Bobby's voice nearly stole my last shred of willpower. If he winked now, I was a goner.
"That's good to know," Thad said. He stopped on his way out the door. "Do you give discounts by any chance?"
Perry rolled his eyes.
"I'm sure we can work something out." Have a look at me—Nina Colette Agreeable Ceceri Quinn. Maybe this self-discovery stuff was kicking in.
As Thad walked out, Perry leaned in, his eyes wide. "Did you really dig up a dead body once? Do tell."
I'd opened Taken by Surprise, Garden Designs, a few years ago, and business had taken off. My company specialized in surprise garden makeovers. We completely changed someone's yard in one day, usually as a gift to an unsuspecting loved one. It took a lot of planning and hard work, but the end results were usually worth it. Plus, I had some of the best people working for me, despite their criminal pasts.
Occasionally I fell across a dead body or two during a job. It wasn't something I liked talking about, and I really wished everyone would just forget about it.
"Digging up? Only once." I looked around, tried to change the subject. "You know, a new coat of paint in this room would do wonders. And maybe a plant or two."
"Oh wait!" Perry snapped his fingers. "Didn't a guy have a heart attack and die from the surprise? When was that? Last month?"
I winced. "Two months." He was referring to Russ Grabinsky, a former client. Kind of.
The door swung open. I breathed a sigh of relief. No more talk of dead bodies, thank God.
Much to my surprise, Genevieve Sala waltzed in and introduced herself. A handsome man followed her in, maybe six feet tall, brown hair professionally styled, thirtyish years old, salon tan, and bright white perfect teeth. Veneers, I was sure of it. He wore expensive jeans, a mint green with baby blue stripes button-down, and a brown suede blazer.
My father would call him a dandy.
I think these days men like him were referred to as metrosexuals.
He looked vaguely familiar.
"This," Genevieve introduced, "is Carson Keyes. He's the entertainment reporter for Channel 18."
Aha! I knew I'd seen him somewhere before. The local Fox affiliate, Channel 18 was my favorite station for their ten o'clock newscast. I was an early-to-bed kind of girl.
"Are you here for your Friday 'Behind the Scenes' segment?" Perry asked Carson.
"Yes," Genevieve answered for him. "Except we've arranged with Channel 18 to do a segment every night this week! It's great PR."
Carson grinned. "The audience will love it." He asked us a few preliminary questions, and closed his notebook just as one of the production assistants came in, a package in her hand. It was the same woman who'd been making googoo eyes at Bobby.
"Mrs. Sala, this just arrived for you via special messenger."
"Oh?" Genevieve ripped open the envelope, pulled out a piece of paper. The color drained from her face. The note slipped from her fingers onto the table.
START SAYING YOUR GOODBYES. YOU'RE ABOUT TO DIE.
Genevieve quickly snatched the paper from the table. "No one saw that. Do you hear me?"
Carson Keyes was already taking notes.
Bobby rose. "I think the police should be notified."
Genevieve crumpled the paper, held it in a tightly closed fist. "It's none of your business," she said to all of us. "I'll deal with this."
"Do you know who sent it?" Carson asked, a gleam in his reporter's eye.
Perceptive, Genevieve picked up on his intent. "You cannot do a report on this, Carson!"
"Genevieve, it's my job to report news, and this is news. Big news."
She let out a small cry and fled the room. Carson followed her out, asking if he could see the note and if there had been other threats.
After a good five minutes, Perry said, "Do we call the police?"
I looked at Bobby.
"I think it's in Genevieve's hands now," he said.
We sat in silence for a minute. Then Perry inched his chair closer to mine.
Oh no. I needed to escape before the conversation returned to dead bodies and how many I'd dug up. "I'm, uh, going to find a drink." I made a run for it, leaving Bobby and Perry alone. I prayed the conversation wouldn't return to cookies.
As I wandered, I wondered who'd want to see Genevieve dead.
My immediate thought was Jessica Ayers. After all, Genevieve had taken her place on the show.
She'd been upset enough to file a sexual harassment suit—was she upset enough to threaten murder?
Wait.
It was none of my business. The old me would be bursting with curiosity, the need to know.
Okay, the new me was too.
I had a feeling it would take quite some time to change such ingrained personality traits.
At a T in the hallway, I turned right. Down this way, there were several offices, including Willie's.
My father would have called Willie smarmy. I would have agreed with him.
The door was wide open, the lights off. What would it hurt to look around?
I moseyed to Willie's desk to have a little look-see. A framed wedding picture of him and Genevieve sat cattycornered, almost teetering off the edge. I wondered if Willie knew how friendly his wife had been with Carson Keyes—who had a very nice head of hair
and
nice teeth.
and
nice teeth.
If I were Willie, I'd be worried.
Maybe not as worried about that as hearing his wife had received a death threat . . .
Had it been her first?
None of my business,
I reminded myself.
I reminded myself.
I reached for the frame, but froze when I heard something.
Dropping to the ground, I crouched beneath the desk, keeping out of sight.
After a heart-pounding minute, I realized voices were coming from the private bathroom behind me.
I duck-walked closer, curious. I listened but couldn't tell who was in there, just that there were two of them. Male and female.
The thick wool carpet absorbed my footsteps as I inched toward the door, my thighs burning. I peeked through the crack.
Genevieve.
Doing what she damn well pleased.
With Thad Cochran.
Naked.
Two
"Are you sure it was Genevieve and Thad? Not Carson Keyes?"
"It was Thad all right. I'd have recognized that dimple anywhere. What a phony he is! You know," I pointed out impatiently, "the gas pedal is on the right."
"You've been driving too much with Maria and Ana."
Maria, my sister. Ana, my cousin. Both drove like hyped-up six-year-olds on a go-cart track. Their car insurance premiums were sky-high and both were on a first name basis with "Rock" from Dollie's Auto Body. I think Ana even dated Rock once, which wasn't saying much, because Ana dated everyone.
I fiddled with the radio, stopped on a John Denver song.
Bobby's eyebrow arched.
"What?"
"John Denver?"
"There's nothing wrong with John Denver."
He laughed, then reverted back to our conversation. "If you want some excitement, I'll take you out on my Harley some time."
My seat belt nearly strangled me as I turned in my seat. "You have a Harley?"
The blinker on the dash flickered as he changed lanes. "There's a lot you don't know about me."
Mr. Boy-Next-Door Bobby MacKenna had a bad boy side? This I had to hear, because I didn't believe it for a second. "Like what?"
"Maybe you'll never know." He smiled, lips closed. It caused a dimple to pop out near the curve of his cheek. It reminded me of Thad's Michael Douglas cleft.
"I can't believe I fell for Thad's Mr. Good Guy act. I'm so disappointed in him. It's like, like . . . " I motioned to the radio. "Like finding out John Denver cheated on Annie."
"John Denver did cheat on Annie."
I gasped. "Really?"
Bobby nodded. "That's what I heard."
"I'm depressed now."
"I can cheer you up," he said softly.
My blood pressure spiked. I chose to ignore him for the sake of my sanity.
Traffic on 75 north slowed near the Jim Beam plant. A drink would have been nice right about now. The old me wouldn't have thought so, but the new me was making strides.
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