Trouble Under the Tree (A Nina Quinn Mystery) Page 11

  Ugh.

  Overwhelmed, I randomly clicked on links. Most were simple news stories about the accident. A few bloggers commented that Benny shouldn’t have received any kind of settlement since he’d been drinking. Other bloggers disagreed, claiming the accident hadn’t been his fault and he shouldn’t be financially punished.

  I sipped my coffee and thought about the silent victim in all this.

  Carrie Hodges.

  I did a quick search on her name, and only a handful of sites came up. One linked to a Facebook memorial page. I clicked on it and found myself reading through dozens of old posts from Carrie’s friends. The photo in the corner was of a smiling young woman who looked to have the whole world ahead of her. Dark brown hair, vibrant blue eyes. I could easily picture her as a cheerleader.

  I didn’t find a single post that mentioned anything about Benny. The page was focused solely on Carrie’s life—not her death. It was a moving tribute.

  “Find anything?” a voice asked from behind me.

  I spilled my coffee. “No, but I think I lost five years off my life. You scared the bejeebers out of me.” I grabbed a paper towel and sopped up the mess.

  Kevin poured himself a cup of coffee. “You should be more aware of your surroundings.”

  “You shouldn’t sneak around.” He’d spent the night on a blow-up mattress in Riley’s room.

  “You should eat something because you’re getting snippy.”

  I stuck out my tongue at him.

  “Mature,” he said with a smile.

  That was me. Nina Colette Immature Ceceri Quinn.

  He nodded to the computer. “What were you looking for?”

  I didn’t tell him about my dream, especially the part about the foot massage. “I’ve been thinking about Benny’s accident. Probably because Maria knew Carrie. It’s amazing how one split second can change someone’s life forever.”

  “Not just one life,” Kevin said. “Many.”

  “True.” I remembered how Maria had described Carrie’s mother at her funeral and shivered again.

  “I’ve been thinking about that accident, too,” Kevin said, “and wondered if that’s why Benny’s a serial cheater.”

  “What do you mean?” I powered down my laptop and tightened the sash of my robe.

  Kevin leaned against the sink. “You have this guy, big, virile, strong, outgoing, handsome. Everyone loves him, loves what he can do for them.”

  I nodded.

  “Then he’s in this accident, and he’s not the same guy anymore, is he? His injuries almost killed him. He was in the hospital for weeks.”

  “Months,” I corrected.

  “Months. He can barely walk. He’s weak. His strong body is atrophying.”

  I smiled. “Look at you using big words like ‘atrophying.’”

  He stuck his tongue out at me.

  “Mature,” I said.

  “I get it from you,” he threw back. Then he continued on about Benny. “He can’t play football anymore. His whole life, his whole identity, was wrapped up in his career. But after the accident what does he have left?”

  “Jenny?”

  “Deeper than that.”

  I thought about it. “Money.” Thanks to that settlement.

  “Not really,” Kevin said, “since he poured it all into Christmastowne. Deeper.”

  “His looks.” Even though his body had been broken and battered in that accident, miraculously, his face had been unscathed.

  “Right,” Kevin said.

  “So you’re saying that these affairs are his way of proving he’s still got game?”

  “So to speak,” Kevin said. “These women are affirming that he’s still that virile guy he’d been before the accident. The affairs are about his insecurities. Young, old—it doesn’t matter with him. As long as they make him feel like his old self.”

  I thought about all those pictures in his office. Not one, I now realized, had been taken after the accident. Looking at Kevin over the rim of my mug, I asked, “Do all guys cheat because of insecurities?”

  He held my gaze for a long second. “No, some are just jerks who don’t recognize how good they’ve got it until it’s gone.”

  “Ah.” I smiled. “That’s what I thought.”

  “I’d hope you weren’t questioning my virility.”

  “Or?”

  “I’d have to drag you under the mistletoe and prove myself.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing I just thought you were a jerk.”

  He grabbed his chest. “Ouch.”

  Gracie barely lifted her head off the couch as Maria came down the stairs. “What’s for breakfast?”

  “My manhood,” Kevin said.

  “Tasty.” She sat next to me. “No, really. I’m starving.”

  I rolled my eyes. “How about pancakes?”

  “Do you have low-cal syrup?”

  “Do you know me at all?” I asked her.

  She let out a breath. “Okay, fine. But at least tell me it’s pure maple syrup.”

  I said nothing as I started gathering ingredients.

  Maria pouted. “You’re killing me, Nina.”

  “Join the club,” Kevin said.

  I glanced at him, and he was looking at me in a way that warned me to stay away from the mistletoe. Far, far away.

  ***

  By eight, the sun had come out (hurrah!), the roads were still a mess, and Kevin was long gone—he’d left after the pancakes.

  I was debating closing the office for the day when my cell rang. It was Jenny Christmas. Reluctantly I answered, and she got right to the point.

  “Nina, I’m going to try and open Christmastowne today at two. A late start, yes, but it’s better than nothing. Do you think you can finish planting the poinsettias before then?”

  It was entirely doable, not that I wanted to do it. However, my good work ethic wouldn’t let me turn her down. Besides, there were some things I wanted to check out at Christmastowne. Namely, the employee files. “I’ll be there by ten,” I said.

  Which would give me enough time to wrangle a skeleton crew and bring Maria home. I dreaded having Gracie in my truck, but I dreaded the thought of Maria being stranded here another day more.

  I quickly showered, folded some laundry, checked to make sure a sleeping Riley was still breathing, and made sure Maria had packed her carpetbag and was ready to go.

  We’d almost made it out the door when my mother called. I scrunched my nose at the Caller ID.

  “Who is it?” Maria asked.

  “Mom.”

  “Aren’t you going to answer?”

  “She’ll leave a message.”

  Maria crossed her arms. “Nina.”

  “You answer,” I said.

  “Fine.” She snapped up the phone. “Hi, Mom! Good. Good! I’m fine. Nina loved her scarf. What? Yes, she found another dead body. Actually, we both did. Riley, too.” Maria held the phone away from her ear, and I winced as I heard my mother screeching. Then Maria said, “Hold on, Mom.”

  She pushed the phone at me. “Mom wants to talk to you.”

  I threw my hands in the air.

  “Well, she does,” Maria said.

  I snatched the phone. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Nina Colette Ceceri. You not only found another dead body, but also shared this little morbid talent of yours with your sister and my grandson?”

  “I’m generous like that.”

  “Not amusing.”

  “Any new lawn ornaments?” I asked.

  “Do not change the subject, chérie.”

  “Did I do that?” I asked, sending daggers into Maria’s back as she buttoned her coat.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh. Well, it was a reasonable question, with the Santa being on your roof and all. Is he still waving like a lunatic after all that snow? Is Rudolph’s nose still blinking?”

  “Like a freakin’ blinking beacon.”

  I smiled. “That’s too bad, Mom. I’ve got to go. I have t
o work.”

  “But Nina, how is your sister? Is she okay?”

  “Has she ever been right?”

  “Not amusing! What’s wrong with her? Did she say?”

  “Nope.”

  “You’ll find out though, right?”

  “Right.”

  “See you if you can get her bread recipe. It was delicious.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’ve got to go. Bye, Mom!”

  I quickly hung up and looked at Maria. “You’re getting coal in your stocking this year.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Ho! Ho! Ho!”

  I skirted the queued line and snuck into Santa’s Cottage to get an up close and personal look at Mr. Cabrera as Santa. He smiled tightly as he bounced a little boy on his knee.

  The boy was saying, “And some trucks, and a train, and a basketball, and a sled, and a—”

  Mr. Cabrera, in a deep voice, cut him off by saying, “Smile for the camera.”

  The boy paused his wish-list, smiled a toothy grin, and Nancy Davidson clicked the picture. The shot was automatically uploaded to a computer station outside the cottage where the little boy’s parents could buy prints.

  It seemed as though—finally—Christmastowne was on its way to being a success. The doors had opened nearly an hour ago, and the village had been inundated with customers.

  Whether they had come as curiosity-seekers didn’t matter. The fact that they stayed and shopped was going to be this place’s saving grace.

  As long as nothing else bad happened.

  My crew had finished just on time, and I couldn’t have been prouder of them—or of the way this job turned out.

  “And a new bike, and a helicopter, and—”

  “Ho! Ho! Ho!” Mr. Cabrera heaved the kid off his knee. “Merry Christmas! Be a good boy!”

  An elf (not Kevin, unfortunately), took the boy by the hand and led him out the door.

  “And a puppy!” the boy cried over his shoulder. “Don’t forget the puppy!”

  Heaven help that dog.

  Mr. Cabrera groaned as he stretched his legs. “When did kids get so heavy?”

  “Ready for the next one?” an elf asked.

  He shook his head. “Give me a minute. I’ve lost feeling in my feet.”

  I walked over to him, and he held up his hands. “Whoa, Miz Quinn. My lap can’t quite handle someone of your size.”

  “Is that a crack about my hips?”

  “You really should cut back on that cookie dough.”

  “You’re lucky I’m still feeling sympathy for you. How’s your head?”

  “Did you hurt yourself, Donatelli?” Nancy asked as she adjusted her camera.

  “Had a little fall,” he said evasively. “But I’m just fine and dandy now.”

  “Like a hard candy Christmas?” I asked.

  Mr. Cabrera stared blankly at me, but Nancy laughed, getting the joke.

  Mr. Cabrera’s Santa hat covered the patch on his scalp that had to be shaved (after doctors had to use Dawn to remove all the hair pomade) for the stitches. I’d been surprised to see him here this morning, but he claimed he was fine and was eager to get to work.

  Slowly he rose and walked slowly in circles. “I’m going to have to get some of those circulation stockings,” he mumbled as he headed into the back room.

  I said to Nancy, “Do you have a sec? I hoped to get a chance to talk to you.”

  “Me?” she said, looking a bit alarmed.

  “About some cameras.”

  She relaxed a bit, and I wondered what had caused her anxiety in the first place. “Kevin told me about the hidden camera in here. I was wondering where I could get one. My parents are having an issue with...vandalism. I’m hoping to catch someone in the act.”

  Using a soft cloth, she cleaned her lens. “I have a small assortment at my farm. I’d be happy to lend you one.”

  “You keep them on hand?”

  She smiled and deep dimples popped in her cheeks. “I get asked more often by friends about nanny cams than I like to admit. If I ever give up freelance photography, I might go into the spying business. It’s where the money is.”

  “How much does a spy cam go for?”

  “A couple of hundred.”

  “Whoa!”

  “I know,” she said. “Crazy. But I’d be happy to loan you one.”

  “That would be so great. Thank you. I can stop by tonight.” I fished around in my backpack for a pen. “What’s your addr—”

  A dog yapped and a high-pitched voice said, “Neeeena! Tell this elf to let me in.”

  I groaned. I knew that voice. And its little dog, too.

  Turning, I found Maria in the doorway with Gracie tucked into the crook of her arm. “What are you doing here?”

  “Trying to get in,” she said in her most condescending tone. She glared at the poor elf blocking the doorway.

  “I’ll be right back,” Nancy murmured as I gave the okay to the elf to let Maria in.

  “Really, what are you doing here?” I asked my sister.

  “I wanted Gracie to get her picture taken with Santa. Look!” From inside her bag, she pulled out a tiny Santa hat with an elastic strap. One-handed, she managed to put it on Gracie’s head, the strap fitting snugly beneath the dog’s chin. “Isn’t it the cutest?”

  I had to admit, it was pretty darn cute.

  Gracie, however, growled and twisted her head to try and chomp at the hat’s fabric.

  Maria looked at me. “She’ll get used to it. Where’s Santa?”

  “Taking a quick break. He’ll be right back.”

  “Who was that woman you were talking to a minute ago? She looked familiar.”

  “Nancy Davidson? She’s the staff photographer.”

  “Hmm,” Maria said. “I don’t know that name, but her face looks familiar.”

  “Ho! Ho! Ho!” Mr. Cabrera exclaimed as he came back into the room.

  Maria beamed so brightly she practically glowed. “It’s perfect!” she cried. “You’ve been practicing.”

  He made an aw-shucks gesture. “Actually, the knock on my head makes it too painful to raise my voice too loud.”

  “Well, whatever works,” she said. “Gracie can’t wait to get her picture taken with you!”

  Mr. Cabrera eyed the Chihuahua warily. The knock to his head certainly hadn’t dulled his common sense.

  “I don’t think we do dogs,” he said, settling himself in his chair.

  It was probably best he didn’t know the things that happened in that chair.

  “What?” Maria pouted. “That’s not what the lady outside told me.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Green pencil skirt, black cashmere sweater, gorgeous Louboutins.”

  Ah. Jenny Christmas. Only Maria would describe someone based on an outfit. “Well, if she said so, then I guess it’s true.” I glanced at Mr. Cabrera. “My sympathies.”

  A flurry of jingles came through the back doorway, and I had to look twice at the person dressed as Mrs. Claus. “Mrs. Krauss?”

  “That’s Mrs. Claus to you,” she snapped.

  My jaw dropped.

  Gracie growled and kept trying to tear her hat off her head.

  Maria said, “Wow. You look amazing.”

  Brickhouse was decked out in a red velvet dress with white fur trim, a jingle bell belt, a sassy red milkmaid type hat, and a pair of tiny gold glasses.

  “She looks good, don’t she?” Mr. Cabrera said.

  “Oh you,” she said, swatting his hand away as it reached to pat her rear end.

  I swear Brickhouse blushed. Blushed!

  “I guess you two are back on?”

  They nodded.

  “I get whiplash from their relationship,” Maria said to me.

  “We all do.” To Brickhouse, I said, “I thought you turned down the job of Mrs. Claus?”

  “Someone has to protect Donatelli,” she said. “People are dying left and right around here.”

  She h
ad a good point.

  A commotion rose outside the front door, and a flustered Jenny Christmas flew through the doorway. “What is going on in here? I’ve got a line back to the atrium.” She looked accusingly at us.

  We said nothing.

  Gracie barked. The traitor.

  Jenny rubbed her temples. “Where is Nancy?”

  I noticed Jenny still had a wild look in her eye. Even a big crowd hadn’t allayed her anxiety about Christmastowne’s success. “A few minutes ago she said she’d be right back.”

  Brickhouse said, “I saw her heading to the restroom.”

  “Ugh!” Jenny cried and stormed out.

  “She needs a chill pill,” Maria said, watching her go.

  “A big one,” Brickhouse added.

  I silently agreed, even though I knew the stress Jenny was under. I noticed the toy chest was full of donations, and I couldn’t help but think about all the merchandise in Fairlane’s house. Kevin had mentioned that she and Fairlee had been selling the loot online, raking in the big bucks.

  Jenny came stomping back into the room. “Nancy left! She told Benny she felt sick, and she left.”

  “She didn’t eat at the food court, did she? Because I had one of those chicken sandwiches, and it’s not sitting right with me.” Mr. Cabrera rubbed his stomach.

  Jenny narrowed her eyes and jabbed a finger at him. “Do not even so much as hint that there’s an outbreak of food poisoning here, do you hear me?”

  Brickhouse stepped between them. “Don’t you know it’s rude to point at people? Have you no manners, Jenny Chester? Do I need to call your mother?”

  For a second there, I thought Brickhouse forgot we weren’t in high school anymore.

  Jenny flushed and backed away. “Where am I going to find another photographer on short notice? Look at that line out there. Just look.” Her face collapsed into anguish. “None of you know how to work this camera, do you?”

  We all shook our heads. I said, “I know someone. He might still be hanging around.”

  “Anyone,” she pleaded.

  I made a call, begged yet another favor, and hung up. “He’ll be here in a minute. You might want to look for an elf hat for him, an XXL.”

  “Why?” Jenny asked.

  “To cover the skull tattoo. It might scare the kids.”