Authors: Heather Webber

Tags: #Contemporary Women, #Mystery & Detective, #Quinn; Nina (Fictitious character), #General, #Women Sleuths, #Fiction

Weeding Out Trouble (10 page)

BOOK: Weeding Out Trouble

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Brickhouse sat in the driver's seat while Perry took a minute to stomp the extra snow off his Doc Martens before getting back into the car.

"Seat belts," Brickhouse intoned, using a voice I hadn't heard since tenth grade English.

Perry buckled in a hurry.

"Where to?" she asked, sending a stream of wiper fluid onto the windshield to clear away the film of dried salt.

I thought that maybe, just maybe, I'd never use salt again.

I gave her the directions I'd memorized. It had taken Tam no time at all to track down Kent's address.

Brickhouse started the car, revved the engine, and slowly pulled into the street, where previous brave drivers had left gullies to guide us through the snow.

Perry looked back at me and smiled as though nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. "As I was saying, you wouldn't believe it."

He was probably right. I kind of didn't believe my life lately.

"There I was getting ready to pick you up, but first I had to shovel the driveway. Straight downhill, you know, and if the snow isn't removed immediately, it will ice, and then I'd never be able to get the Range Rover back into the carport."

"The horror," Brickhouse deadpanned.

Perry cupped his mouth. "Is she cranky today?"

I didn't bother to lower my voice. "She's cranky every day."

Brickhouse clucked.

"Go on," I said to Perry.

"There I was shoveling away when I saw it."

"It?" I asked.

Perry fiddled with the heat. "Them, really. Footprints. Can you believe it?"

"Well, maybe?" I said, not sure what he was getting at.

"Leading up to my carport and away again."

"Oh?" Brickhouse said, keeping her hands at ten and two.

"I followed them." Perry cranked up the heater. "I mean, nobody had any business near my car. I mean, hello? Private property."

I smiled. I couldn't help it. "And?"

"They led to the front of my car, which I thought was a bit odd, no?"

"Very odd," I encouraged.

I thought I saw Brickhouse smile, but couldn't be sure. Could have been indigestion. One never knew with her.

Perry went on. "I looked around, but didn't see anything unusual. The car was still locked, everything looked well and good, but I couldn't figure it out. Why walk up to my car and walk away again?"

Beats me.

"So I took a closer look," Perry said, his eyes wide.

I realized he was enjoying telling this story, feeding us bits at a time, leading up to . . . who knew?

"I went over it with a fine-tooth comb, top to horribly dirty bottom. My car needs a wash desperately. Is there anything more disgusting than a salt-encrusted vehicle? Is there?" The flaps on his hat bounced as he looked between the two of us.

"Your story-telling skills," Brickhouse proclaimed, tugging off her hat. Tufts of white hair stuck out in all directions. "Get on with it."

To her, he said, "You're lucky I love you, Ursula."

She clucked. "I was thinking the same thing, Perry."

I bit back a grin as he cupped his mouth again and whis pered to me, "Cranky," while gesturing to Brickhouse with his thumb.

I nodded.

Thankfully, he continued. "While examining the undercarriage of the Rover and bemoaning the fact that my car, my baby, needed a bath, something caught my eye." He paused for dramatic effect. "It was . . . a GPS unit."

I let that sink in.

"What's a GPS?" Brickhouse asked.

"I'll tell you what it is," Perry said excitedly. "It's a tracking device. Someone wanted to follow me. Or more appropriately," he held my gaze, "you. Someone who knew we were together yesterday, perchance?"

"The good detectives? You think?"

"Who else?" Brickhouse asked. "You never were the brightest bulb."

"Hey now," I said. "You are cranky."

"I told you so." Perry preened.

He settled back into his seat as I tried not to think who else would want to track me. I felt fairly safe being followed by the police. If the person who'd killed Daisy was on my trail, however, well that'd be enough to send me hitchhiking to Denver to hide out with Ana.

I took a second to ponder all the things I was trying not to think about. The list was adding up. Which was fine with me—as long as I didn't think about it.

"Being the noble man I am," Perry said, "I set aside my own needs for the sake of our investigation and borrowed Mario's car!"

"This is Mario's?" I asked, taking in the cracked seats, the old radio.

Perry sighed. "He has an attachment to it. I tried long ago to get him to trade it in, to no avail. But I make him park it on the street."

"Ach, yes. Very noble of you," Brickhouse murmured.

Kent Ingless lived a few miles from Heavenly Hope. With the roads a mess, it took nearly an hour to get there from my house, usually a fifteen minute drive.

A long recently plowed driveway wound up to the house, a gorgeous log Gambrel. Twin dormer windows peeked out from the second floor, and a bay window on the first floor had its drapes pulled. However, smoke came from the stack-stone chimney, and the walkway was freshly shoveled. "Looks like he's home."

Brickhouse parked. "Do we have a plan?"

Perry looked at me.

"Well, ah, no," I said. "We're just going to play it by ear."

Brickhouse's blue eyes chilled. I hated when they did that. "What makes you think he will let us in?"

Perry rummaged in the trunk. "Well, listen to Miss Optimism."

The icy blue stare turned on him. "We're perfect strangers. Why would he have any reason to speak with us?"

I hated when she made sense.

Producing a tray with a flourish, Perry said, "Because I've got cannoli. Who can turn down cannoli?"

Not me. My mouth watered.

Brickhouse clucked. "I like you, Perry. You come prepared. Unlike other people I know." She glanced my way.

"You could have stayed home," I tossed over my shoulder as I marched up the walkway, my wet jeans chafing my thighs.

I knocked loudly on a wooden door inset with beautiful stained glass. Through it I saw a figure moving closer.

The door inched open.

I wasn't sure what I had been expecting a boyfriend of Daisy's to look like. Okay, I pictured someone like Kit. Big and bulky. Or maybe even the hippie type. Long hair, Birkenstocks, free-thinking mentality . . .

The man who stood in the doorway wore crisp Ralph Lauren pressed pants, a cashmere sweater, and a look that said, "Go away." He appeared to be of Mediterranean descent, with short silver gray hair, an olive skin tone, and dark eyes. He wasn't short, wasn't tall, wasn't fat, wasn't thin. Average, all around.

"Hi," I said brightly, as if I were there selling cookies and not asking about murder. "I know you don't know us, but I'm Nina Quinn, this is Perry, and this is Ursula." I smiled in a friendly we're-not-serial-killers kind of way.

Piercing black eyes focused on me. "Jesus."

He'd said it in a tone that would earn him penance from Father Keesler at St. Valentine's.

"I know who you are," Kent said to me.

Perry held up his offering. "I brought cannoli."

Kent Ingless fisted a hand, released it.

I fidgeted. "We just want to ask you a few questions."

"About Kit?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"I knew you looked to be a man of intelligence," Brick

house said, brushing past him into the house without an invitation.

Perry followed.

Kent looked at me, something dark and dangerous in his eyes. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and I thought maybe grabbing Perry and the cannolis and getting the heck out of Dodge might be the wisest decision.

Brickhouse could fend for herself.

"We could come back another time," I mumbled.

"But you're here now," he said so sweetly that it reminded me of the witch luring Hansel and Gretel into the gingerbread house. "Come in out of the cold."

If he so much as cackled, I was out of there.

"Um, thanks." Inside, welcoming scents of vanilla and sage filled the air. Though dark, because all the drapes had been drawn, the house had a cozy air about it, completely at odds with the doom and gloom vibe I picked up from Kent.

Perry had set his plate on the coffee table, an old steamer trunk, and taken a seat next to Brickhouse on a buttercream-colored couch. I opted to sit in a wingback across from them, and Kent sat in a thickly upholstered rocking club chair that creaked with every motion.

The fireplace offered light. The burning logs crackled and spit, each noise as loud as a freight train in the silence of the room.

Kent made no motion to set out plates or offer drinks, and it didn't take my impeccable Clue playing skills to recognize that we weren't welcome, cannoli or not.

I took a deep breath since no one else seemed to be starting the conversation. "First, our sympathies on Daisy's passing."

Brickhouse clucked.

I was glad Kent didn't know Brickhouse and probably couldn't decipher her clucks as well as I could. That was definitely a cluck of disagreement.

I pressed on. "Kit's a good friend of ours. We're worried about him."

"You don't think he killed Daisy?" An eyebrow arched as the chair creaked. My hair still stood on end. This guy was creepy with a capital C.

"No, we don't," I said.

"I see. And you're here, why?" Kent asked.

My flight or fight instinct leaned toward flight. I fidgeted in my chair. "Honestly? Your and Daisy's relationship was news to us. We were hoping you might be able to—"

"What?"
Creak creak.
"Confess?"

I gulped. "I don't think, I don't mean, that's not what I—"

Brickhouse was a little more straightforward. "Did you do it?"

Creak
. Slowly, enunciating each word, he said, "Do I look capable of . . .
murder
?"

Perry picked this time to finally say something. "Holy hell, yes, honey. I mean, you're a mighty fine looking guy, but those eyes. I nearly wet myself sitting over here." He stood. "I'm just going to take my cannoli and wait in the car." Rushing to the door, he mumbled something about nightmares and Christopher Walken.

Brickhouse looked at me as the door slammed. "I don't think he should be left alone. I'll be in the car too." She hustled out of the room faster than I thought a woman of her size and girth could move.

The door slammed again.

I was alone with Kent.

Talk about fending for yourself.

Again he arched the eyebrow, narrowed evil eyes. "Looks like,"
creak creak
, "we're all alone."

A log tumbled in the fireplace, sending sparks flying and my nerves over the edge. Perry wasn't alone—I thought maybe I might wet myself too.

I crossed my legs, my jeans protesting, and forced myself not to be scared to death. "How did you meet Daisy?"

"Through work."
Creak creak
.

"What exactly do you do?" Besides scare the hell out of people?

"I'm a chef of sorts."

Of sorts? What did that mean? "I don't suppose you'd care to elaborate?"

"No."

"All right. How long had you two been together, you and Daisy?"

"Six months." His rocking had slowed, each creak extending into more of a scream.

How appropriate.

I thought about the six months. Daisy had still been with Kit for most of that time. "Did you love her?"

Not so much as a blink from him. "Yes."

"Do you know who killed her?"

Creeeeeaaaak
. "No."

"Do you know how Kit was helping Daisy? At work?"

"No."

Liar, liar, but he'd pass a lie-detector test easy. "Do you think Kit killed her?" I asked.

"I don't know."

I brought out the question I really wanted answered. "Do you think her death could be tied to the drugs she sold?"

The chair creaked one last time as he rose. "It's time for you to leave."

Not liking him looming over me, I jumped to my feet. "But—" I protested.

"We're done."

"You're hiding something," I accused, hoping he wouldn't notice my knees knocking.

"Daisy never liked you."

I drew in a breath. "She didn't even know me!"

"She thought Kit was too attached to you, too loyal. She was jealous."

"Why are you telling me this?"

He opened the door. "Oddly, I find that I happen to like

you, Ms. Quinn. I like your spunk, the fire in your eyes, your loyalty to your friend. I like that you want to do right by him, see justice served. Those are qualities hard to come by."

I didn't want to know the way he treated the people he didn't like.

"It's time for you to leave, Nina," he said in a soft, scary whisper. "I suggest you stay out of this. Daisy was killed and the same could easily happen to you."

The threat was clear.

I would have run to the car, but my knees were shaking too hard. Once in, Brickhouse stepped on the gas, sending the car fishtailing and snow flying.

She straightened out and zoomed down the driveway. "He's guilty. I can sense these things. I didn't suffer through two years of Matthew de la Cruz in English Lit not to know when someone's guilty."

"Did you see that steamer trunk?" Perry asked. "I bet there was a body in there! Don't people burn sage to ward off evil?"

Brickhouse shifted into second when she reached the main road. "There's evil, then there's e
vil
. No amount of sage would work on that man."

I spotted the platter of cannoli, took its wrapper off. "Yet you left me alone with him."

"You are woman!" Perry said, shaking a fist in the air.

BOOK: Weeding Out Trouble

5.96Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Read Book Download Book

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