Trouble In Spades (13 page)

I smiled. Between him and Vice Principal MacKenna, my ego was slowly gluing itself back together. Just because Kevin didn't want me, didn't mean no one else did. All right, so one was married, and the other was old enough to be my great-grandfather. But still. It felt nice. Mr. Cabrera called the meeting to order by clearing his throat repeatedly. After it was determined he wasn't choking, and he had everyone's attention, he got right to the point. "Miz Quinn thinks our burglar is a pervert." Twenty geriatric heads turned my way. I rolled my eyes and wished I'd stayed in the shower. "I never said pervert," I defended.

"What else would you call someone who goes around stealing gra—" He cleared his throat. "Ladies' panties?" I bit back a smile at him not saying "granny." Probably didn't want to ruffle any feathers since most of the women in the room constituted the Mill's dating pool. "He has a point," Mrs. Daasch said.

"How do we know for certain that's what the burglar's doing?" Mrs. Mustard asked, crossing her legs as if the panty thief might be in the room at that moment and think ing about stealing her JCPenney briefs right out from under her polyester skirt.

Actually, if my theory
was
right, the panty thief might very well be in the room.

I glanced from face to face as the debate about burglars and panties grew heated.

Colonel Mustard sat next to his wife on the love seat. He was a decorated World War II hero, and I really couldn't see him getting his jollies from a bunch of stretched out underwear.

Mr. Cabrera? I ruled him out immediately. Not that I didn't think he could get his jollies from old ladies' underwear—I think he could. And has. But he'd be more likely to come out and ask for them.

My gaze landed on Riley, who stood in a corner, listening intently. I allowed myself to think about him being involved with this—but only for a few seconds. I could see him doing this only as a prank. Once. Not numerous times, and not to the point where it would cause someone a heart attack. I ruled him out. Mostly because I refused to believe it. Denial was sometimes a good thing.

Flash? I looked down at his crown of white hair. It was thinning on top, but was white as down. It was true his days of being a player were over, both on the field and in the bedroom, but would he resort to panty stealing?

Mr. Weatherbee? I looked over to where he sat on the hearth. He was a mean old man, the kind who kept your ball if it went into his yard. He'd been divorced nearly thirty years ago, and now lived with his mother, who was pushing one hundred. He never dated, as far as anyone knew—and in the Mill we'd know—and received
Playboy
in the mail. He looked up, caught me staring. He scowled and turned away. Well, so much for my healing ego.

The Molari brothers? I doubted it. One never went anywhere without the other, and there was no evidence about there being two burglars.

Really, I couldn't see any of them being involved. Well, maybe Mr. Weatherbee, but that was just because I didn't like him.

The meeting dragged on for an hour. I kept eyeing my backpack sitting by the front door and wishing everyone would leave.

As much as the panty thief was a problem, what was happening with Nate was bigger.

Riley looked at his watch. "All right, everyone! Meeting's over! I need to get to work."

Bones creaked and knees popped as people rose. I helped Flash to his feet when he had trouble getting out of the double wide chair.

As people filed out, Mr. Cabrera shook Riley's hand. He turned to me and said, "Good boy you got there."

"Sometimes," I said.

Riley rolled his eyes. "I'm gonna be late," he said as Mr. Cabrera shuffled out the door.

"And whose fault is that?" I asked. "What was this all about anyway?"

"What?"

"The meeting? Here?"

"I didn't think you'd mind."

"I don't." All right, I did, but he didn't have to know that. "How'd you get involved in this?"

"Oh. Mr. C asked if I wanted to be his partner. Said he needed a young pair of eyes, ears, and legs."

Partner?
"Partner in what?"

Riley beamed. "Crime solving."

"What!?"

"It's gonna be so cool. I'll be just like Dad," he said, oblivious to me freaking out in front of him. "Riley . . ."

He ran up the stairs. "I'll be ready in a minute."

I slumped into the chair Flash Leonard had just vacated, dropped my head into my hands.

I dropped Riley off at Kroger and got him to promise he'd come straight home after work. I wasn't holding my breath.

Out of the corner of my eye I checked my backpack for the hundredth time to make sure Nate's package hadn't upped and disappeared.

It hadn't.

I'd successfully evaded all temptation to open it at every stoplight. I needed space to spread out whatever was in there.

And if it was especially shocking, I didn't want to be behind the wheel of Maria's Mercedes if I crashed. Maria. I'd dropped her off at my mother's after finding Claire's body. She'd promised to tell my mother everything that had happened, from Nate's misplacement to finding Claire's body. I still hadn't heard from her, and I was holding onto that no news, good news saying.

Ugh.
Again with sounding like my mother! Tam would pitch a fit.

Ugh. Tam.
I wondered if Leo Barker was still alive.

I thought about calling the office to check on things and decided to let it be. However, I couldn't stop thinking about all the preparation going into Maria's backyard. I needed to find out ASAP if I should continue as planned. Which meant contacting Nate's dad. I wondered if Maria had already called him about Nate. Someone needed to. I frowned in confusion as I pulled into my driveway. Kit's TBS truck was parked at the curb, and he was sitting on my porch swing. I hoped the bolts held.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, hopping out of the car.

"Sweet ride. New?"

"Maria's."

"That explains it."

I took the porch steps two at a time. "Tam didn't kill Leo Barker, did she?"

I didn't really think she had. Okay, so I was a little worried. All right, I was a lot worried.

"Not yet."

I noticed he wasn't smiling. Kit was almost always smiling. "What's wrong?"

"This." He pulled a small animal carrier out from under the swing. I hadn't even seen it there behind his tree trunk legs.

"What's that?"

"That's Gracie," he said.

I swallowed, not liking his dark tone. "Who's Gracie?"

His thick eyebrows rose. "Your new dog."

"What?!"

He mimicked my voice. " 'Get a small dog, something cute. Girls don't like big slobbery dogs.' " He narrowed his lined eyes at me. "I should have told you that Daisy isn't like most girls."

I took a step back. "Uh, she didn't like the dog?"

A dark eyebrow slashed upward. "You think?"

"Um. Well. Why don't you take it back, get a refund?"

"No takesies-back where I got this dog," he said in a way that made "takesies" sound menacing and not cute. Gulp. I didn't even want to know.

"There's got to be a shelter that'll take him?" I asked meekly.

"Her. It's a her. And Daisy won't hear of it. Wants her to go to a good home."

I shifted my backpack. "Your home is a good home."

He rose. "The dog's certifiable. She needs to be with someone equally crazy." He shoved the carrier at me. Reluctantly, I took it.

He went down the steps. "Have a nice day," he called out without looking back.

I watched him drive away. Peering into the carrier, I wondered how bad it could be. Something so small should be cute and cuddly, right?

I unlocked the front door and set my backpack and the carrier on the floor.

It took me a full minute to get the cage door open and another five to coax Gracie out, her yipping and growling the whole time.

Gracie was a Chihuahua. All black, with white fur on her feet that looked like little bobby socks. She was adorable, with big black ears, a pointy nose, and huge dark eyes.

She shook in my arms. I set her down. "Well, Gracie, looks like you'll be staying here for a while."

This wasn't going to be so bad. I don't know what Kit was talking about. She was a sweet little thing.

She looked up at me, tucked her tail between her legs and peed on my carpet.

Every time I actually got her out, another puddle appeared, and she'd zip back under.

I wondered about her bladder size and realized that maybe Kit hadn't been exaggerating crazy.

I didn't know what to do. I couldn't just leave her under there. Not to mention that the rug needed to be cleaned. But she just wouldn't come out—and stay out.

I nudged the couch with my foot. It slid an inch backward and Gracie came darting out, ears back, tail tucked, and ran into the wall behind me.

She bounced back, turned, and zipped past me. She bumped into the coffee table leg, yipped, and dove back under the couch. Ohhhkay. I'd leave her be for now.

I grabbed my backpack, pulled out Nate's package, set it on the table.

Guilt tugged at my conscience. He'd told me not to open it. But that was before Claire was found dead. All bets were now off.

Taking a deep breath, I ripped the top off the package Band-Aid-style, quick and fast.

I squeezed the envelope so it billowed out and peeked inside. I saw several folds of cream-colored paper protecting a smaller wrapped bundle.

Swallowing hard, I put the envelope on the table.

Did I really want to be doing this? Hadn't I learned my lesson about snooping into other people's lives?

My inner voice nagged that this wasn't pe
ople
. This was Nate, and consequentially, Maria. My baby sister. Usually, I didn't listen to that voice. I likened it to the angel and devil that sat on cartoon characters' shoulders . . . Over the years I recognized that my inner voice tended to run more hot than halo—which meant that I probably shouldn't be doing what I was about to do.

I reached in and grabbed hold of the paper. Slowly, I slid it out, and dropped the whole thing on the floor when someone thumped on my door.

My heart lodged in my throat, beat there wildly while I gathered up the envelope, the papers, and shoved them back into my backpack.

"Neee-nah!"

Maria. "Oh crap," I muttered under my breath. "I'm coming!"

Gracie shot out from under the couch, started running in circles, yipping and yapping.

A cab was pulling away from the curb as I pulled open the door. Maria was on the porch, a Louis Vuitton garment bag draped over her arm. Her huge rolling suitcase at her feet. Her gaze narrowed on Gracie.

"Eeee!"
she squealed. She pulled me in front of her as a shield. "Is that a rat?" she asked.

I ducked out of her grasp and quickly closed the door before Gracie darted outside in a manic haze. "Yeah. Rats bark."

Maria's lashes fluttered. "Are you mocking?"

I ignored her. Squatting, I said, "Come here, Gracie."

More yips and yaps. I scooted closer to where she was still running in circles. She tucked her tail between her legs and peed on the floor.

Maria stepped back. "Ewww!"

I closed my eyes. I was going to kill Kit. Turning, I looked at Maria. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean?"

"You. Here. Why?" Any patience I'd had seeped into the rug with psycho Chihuahua pee.

"I'm moving in, of course."

Of course. How silly of me. "Why?"

"I can't possibly stay at either of my places. Everything's tainted. By the stalker at my condo, and then with Claire's body being in my backyard . . ." She set her garment bag on the chair.

Gracie dove back under the couch. I heard a thud and hoped she hadn't knocked herself out.

I sat on the floor, crossed my legs and looked up, wondering when lightning was going to strike me, because apparently I'd done something so horrible that I was being punished.

"I mean, really," Maria said, kicking off her shoes. After looking at Gracie's puddle, she put them back on. "Claire's body couldn't have been dumped somewhere else? It had to be
my ya
rd?"

I really didn't think it was a coincidence Claire's body was found in Maria's yard. Was someone trying to frame Maria or Nate? Or was it left there as a message of some sort?

I felt a sisterly duty to warn Maria about living here. Maybe then she'd leave. "You do know a teenage boy lives here, right?"

"I love Riley."

"He has a snake."

Maria shuddered. "I'm not planning to play with it."

"And it looks like I have a new dog. You don't like dogs, remember? Maybe you should stay at Mom and Dad's." She arched pale eyebrows. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"
Yes.
"No, not at all."

"Kevin thinks Nate might have done it. Killed Claire, I mean," Maria said, changing the subject. Looked like I had a houseguest.

Gracie poked her pointy nose out, sniffed Maria's leg. "Are you sure that's really a dog?"

"Yes."

"Is it really yours?"

"No. Yes. Maybe."

She arched an eyebrow at that. Gracie ventured out and sniffed Maria's leg. Miraculously, Maria didn't seem to mind. Apparently she'd forgotten she had dog issues. "Nate would never leave a body in his own backyard," she said as if we hadn't been sidetracked by a five-pound dog with bladder problems. "He's not that stupid." In the blink of an eye Gracie lunged forward and bit Maria's ankle. "Ow!" She pulled her leg up on the couch. Gracie darted back under the couch. "She bit me," Maria whined.

"She's little—it couldn't have hurt that much. Maybe that's the way she kisses. It was a love bite."