Trouble Under the Tree (A Nina Quinn Mystery) Read online

  “Weird.” Had Nancy accidentally given the wrong address?

  Or had it been done on purpose?

  And if so...why?

  Chapter Seventeen

  I dropped off Ana and went straight home, ready for a quiet night. Riley and Kevin were back at their apartment; Maria was safely ensconced in her McMansion. Mr. Cabrera’s light was on in his kitchen, and through the window, I saw him and Brickhouse dancing around. I smiled but wondered how long this “on” would last.

  Down the street, police tape still fluttered in front of the McCorkle house.

  A bitterly cold wind bit my ears, and I hurried up my front steps. I was pleasantly surprised to find a shipping box on my porch and hoped it was from Bobby.

  However, when I picked it up, it only had my name written on the outside—not a postal address. I brought it in, kicked off my shoes, took off my coat, and unwound (and unwound) my scarf.

  In the kitchen, I checked my messages. There was one from my mother, asking about Maria. One from Flash Leonard wondering if I’d heard anything about his baseball. Nothing from Bobby.

  Back in the living room, I peeled back the tape on the box and peeked in warily, afraid whatever was inside might be something out of a Godfather movie.

  Pleasantly surprised, I picked up a small plastic box. It was a motion-detecting camera. There was a note from Nancy:

  Nina, so sorry I had to run out earlier—I think I caught a stomach flu. I hope it’s not food poisoning.

  Nancy was lucky Jenny Christmas hadn’t heard her say that.

  I wanted to get this camera to you, however. It’s very easy to use, just follow the enclosed directions. Good luck catching your vandal. –Nancy

  I was suddenly reenergized, ready to catch whoever was behind the lawn (and roof) decorations at my mother’s. Within half an hour, I had quickly skimmed the directions for the camera, tested it out, and was out the door headed to my parents’ house.

  I drove slowly—Mr. Cabrera slowly—and by the time I’d turned onto my parents’ street, the moon had slipped behind clouds.

  Parking a little farther away than normal, I surveyed the house, looking for the best place to put the camera. Santa, atop the house, waved his arms frenetically as I dashed across the street. I quickly set the camera in the corner of a window sill and propped it there with a rock.

  I was walking up the front steps when the front door flew open and my mother came out in her dressing gown, waving a spatula wildly.

  “Whoa!” I said, throwing my arms up to ward off an attack.

  My mother pressed her hand to her chest. “I could have hurt you! A neighbor called to say she saw someone creeping around the house.”

  I eyed the spatula. “We you going to flip me over?”

  She hit my rear with it as I walked by. “Don’t be sassy with me. Why were you creeping around the house? What are you doing here?”

  “It’s good to see you, too,” I said.

  “Answer me,” my mother said, shaking the spatula.

  I turned and hung my coat in the front closet and left my boots by the door.

  “Nina Colette Ceceri! What is that on your neck?”

  I smiled. This was the perfect diversionary tactic. “My new tattoo! Do you like it?”

  “Come closer.”

  Shuffling closer, I barely knew what hit me when my mother smacked me on the head with the spatula. “Ow! I can’t believe you hit me! Dad,” I shouted, “Mom hit me!”

  “He’s not here.”

  “Oh.” I pouted. Maria taught me well.

  “What possessed you to get a tattoo that is so...visible? Haven’t I taught you that your clothing should be able to cover the ink? Like mine,” she said.

  I stared at her. “What?”

  “Close your mouth, chérie, it’s most unattractive. See here.”

  My mother opened her robe and pulled down the edge of her silk pajama bottoms. A fleur de lis was tattooed on her hip.

  I gaped some more.

  My mother tapped my chin with her finger.

  “Full of surprises,” I murmured.

  My mother beamed—she and Maria had the same smile. “Now, tell me, why were you sneaking around the house?”

  “Do you like the sunburst?” I asked, sweeping aside my chin-length hair so she could get a much clearer look.

  “Nina, I am no fool. Now that we’re in better light, I can see it’s a fake.”

  I tried to catch a glimpse in the hallway mirror. “How can you tell?” It looked real to me.

  She motioned me into the kitchen. “The edges are peeling up. Have you been perspiring?”

  I didn’t mention the cold sweat. She didn’t need to worry about the icy roads, especially if my dad was driving on them. “Nope,” I lied. “Where’s Dad?”

  “We’re out of coffee.”

  “Horror!”

  Mom nodded and set a plate of cookies on the table. Chunky chocolate chip. My mouth watered. I reached for one and recoiled when my mother slapped my hand with that spatula. “Ow!”

  “What were you doing prowling around the house?”

  “I wasn’t prowling.” I examined my raw knuckles. “I was looking around to make sure no one else was prowling.”

  She arched a blond eyebrow. “Why are you even here?”

  “I needed a fix.” I snatched a cookie and nibbled.

  “Of what?”

  “Your sleep medicine.”

  “That stuff isn’t good for you,” she said.

  “Pot, kettle,” I said.

  She shrugged, pulling her robe tight. “Do as I say?”

  “Not to worry, anyway. The pill’s not for me. It’s for Ana.”

  My mother slipped her hand into her pocket, pulled out a prescription bottle, shook out a pill and handed it to me. Then she shook out another. “Take two.”

  “That’s it? No questions about why Ana needs a sedative?”

  “I’ve long thought that girl needed to be medicated.”

  The door connecting to the garage opened and my father came into the kitchen. He set a pound of freshly ground coffee on the counter. “Nina, what’re you doing here?”

  “Being surprised and abused. Mom wields a mean spatula.”

  He kissed my cheek. “Welcome to my club.”

  My mother swatted at him, and he kissed her loudly on her lips.

  “That’s my cue to go,” I said, jumping up.

  “Is that a tattoo on your neck?” Dad asked.

  I nodded, hoping to get some sort of reaction out of him. “Do you like it?”

  “Lovely colors,” he said, reaching for a cookie. “I’ll be in my den watching a documentary on Alexander the Great.”

  Looking between the two of them, I grabbed two cookies for the road. “I’m going home.”

  ***

  “You’re a bad influence,” Tam Oliver said to me the next morning at the office.

  “I know.” I blinked innocently. “Will you do it?”

  Sometimes it paid off to have ex-cons working for me. Tam was a whiz with computers—and knew how to get information I didn’t.

  “Hand it over,” she said. “You’ll bail me out of jail, right?”

  I nodded and handed over Glory Vonderberg’s social security number.

  Even though she was only in her twenties, Tam looked—and acted—a lot like Queen Elizabeth. She was prim and proper, and even sat in a chair that looked a lot like a throne. Her accent, however, was more on the hillbilly than British.

  As I headed back to my office, I turned and slowly walked back to Tam’s desk. I played nervously with Sassy, her African Violet.

  Tam pulled the plant away from me. “What else?”

  I pulled my phone from my pocket and said, “Can you get me an address to go with a cell phone number?”

  “Easily. But it will cost you.”

  “How much?” I asked.

  “Four hours’ babysitting.”

  That was a price I’d gladly pay. Babys
itting Tam’s daughter Niki was one of my joys in life. “Three?” I bartered, just so I didn’t appear too easy.

  “Three and a half.”

  “Deal.”

  “Done.” She put her hand out for my phone and copied down Nancy Davidson’s phone number. She handed it back. “Give me a few minutes.”

  I grabbed a cup of coffee on my way back to my office and sat down behind my desk. This time of year was notoriously slow, but the company had been staying afloat during the winter months by doing indoor landscapes. Not many, but enough to pay the bills and keep my crew employed all winter long, even though some opted to take part-time jobs as well, to supplement their income.

  Including, apparently, Kit.

  I’d received a call from him this morning asking for the day off so he could work at Christmastowne as Santa’s photographer. Nancy was still home sick.

  My cell phone rang, and I quickly answered when I saw who it was. “Good morning!”

  “It is not a good morning, young lady. Not in any sense of the word ‘good.’”

  “Is there more than one sense of that word?”

  “Chérie, I have a splitting headache, your father bought the wrong coffee, and there are a dozen four-foot tall plastic candles lining my driveway. Do not start with me.”

  “Candles?” I said, practically giddy. The camera I’d set up was at the perfect angle to capture anyone moving about the front of the house.

  “They’re dreadful,” she cried. “When can you come and pick them up? I can’t even bear going outside.”

  “What makes you think I want them?”

  “Because you get your tacky decorating style from your father. Of course you want them.”

  “You’re right. I want them. And I’ll forgive you the tacky comment.” Only because there were donuts in the office. Tam had brought them in, and there were extra glazed in the box. I was in Krispy Kreme heaven.

  “When, Nina? When? I have errands to run.”

  “This afternoon?”

  “The sooner the better,” she said and hung up.

  I smiled as I set my phone on my desk. I couldn’t wait to see who the lawn decorator was. It was almost worth skipping out of work early.

  I heard the printer working and hoped Tam had found something interesting in Glory Vonderberg’s background. Something that might point to her being a murderer would be nice.

  Just to see this case closed.

  A second later, Tam stepped into the doorway. Creases lined her forehead as she frowned at me.

  “What did you find?” I asked.

  She sat in the chair opposite me and placed a sheaf of papers on my desk. Glory Vonderberg’s information. I leafed through it.

  “Not too much,” she said. “Glory Vonderberg is an accomplished cake artist, has worked all over the world, has plenty of money in the bank, has never been sued, arrested, or filed bankruptcy.”

  “Married?” I asked. She certainly didn’t act like it. She didn’t even wear a wedding band.

  “Widowed from Marco Vonderberg, the famous opera singer.”

  Hmm. I wondered why that hadn’t shown up on my internet search. “Wasn’t he like eighty years old when he died?”

  Tam cringed. “Eighty-five.”

  “How long were they married?”

  “A few years. Just long enough for Glory to be added to his will.”

  My eyes widened. “How’d he die?”

  “Natural causes.”

  Darn.

  “And what about that phone number?” I asked.

  Tam fidgeted in her seat. She never fidgeted, so I was immediately suspicious.

  “About that,” she said.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ve got nothing.” She straightened my blotter and a cup of pencils. She hated the disorganization of my desk.

  “What do you mean nothing?”

  “The number belongs to a throw-away cell phone. One with buy-as-you-use-them minutes. No contract. No name. No address. Drug dealers use them a lot.”

  Nancy as a drug dealer didn’t add up.

  I jotted down Nancy Davidson’s name on a sticky note and passed it over to Tam. “Can you do a search on this name and tell me what you find?”

  “This is all you have? A name?”

  I snapped my fingers. “Actually, I have more.” I dug through my bag for Nancy’s employment file. After pulling it out, I skimmed over Nancy’s application and spotted her social security number. I handed it to Tam. “This should help.”

  She jumped up. “Definitely.” Slyly, she looked over her shoulder as she headed for the door. “Our terms still stand?”

  “Three and a half hours. Right.”

  She scurried out.

  As I worked on invoices past-due, my cell phone rang. I rolled my eyes as I looked at the readout and answered.

  “I’m dying,” Maria rasped.

  She sounded horrible. “Of what?”

  “I think it might be food poisoning from Christmastowne.”

  Oh no. “What did you eat?”

  “Technically?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nothing.”

  I sighed.

  “But I saw people eating. That counts.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Okay, maybe I have the stomach flu.”

  Ugh. She’d spent the night in my bed! How long was the incubation period of the flu?

  Suddenly I wasn’t feeling so well, either. Power of suggestion, it had to be.

  “Can you bring me some soup?” she said pitifully. “Nate’s gone for the day.”

  “He’s been working a lot lately.”

  “Overtime,” she said. “Trying to earn his place at the new company.”

  His old job hadn’t worked out so well, what with the murders and all.

  “And you?” I asked, probing. In the front office, I heard the bells on the front door—someone had come in. “Did you call in sick?”

  She hesitated. “No need to. I’ve been working from home a lot.”

  Hmm.

  “The soup, Nina? Please?”

  “Yes, yes. I’ll bring you some soup.” I’d run over on my lunch break.

  “Chicken and rice?”

  “Okay.”

  “And a baguette?”

  “You’re pushing your luck.”

  I hung up before she could request a full shopping run and turned my phone off because I knew she’d be calling back with more items to add to her list. Tam immediately stuck her head in the doorway. Her eyes were bright with excitement.

  “What did you find?” I asked.

  “It’s what I didn’t find,” she said.

  It was going to be a long day, I could tell. “What didn’t you find?”

  “Anything useful to you. Nancy Davidson, at least the woman who’s working at Christmastowne, doesn’t exist. The name and the social security number on that card belongs to a local girl who died ten years ago—at the age of six.”

  I let that news sink in. “Nancy, the photographer, isn’t who she says she is.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Then who is she?” I asked.

  Tam shrugged. “I guess that’s for the police to figure out.”

  “I suppose I should call Kevin.”

  “Oh,” Tam said. “I don’t think you need to do that.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s here.”

  Kevin stepped up behind Tam and gave me a finger wave.

  Yep. A long day.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Is that a baseball in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” I asked. I couldn’t help myself. Sue me.

  Kevin grinned. “I don’t think you want to go down that road.”

  “Maybe not. But seriously, is that a baseball?”

  Reaching in his pocket, he said, “It’s Flash’s, from the day Fairlee was killed. I thought he might want it back.”

  He tossed it to me, and I barely caught it before it thunked off
my collarbone. “He would.” I glanced at it. It was signed with names I recognized—ball players from days gone by. “Did you...?”

  “I know a few people who owe me favors. No big deal.” He sat down.

  I actually had a lump in my throat. I was such a sap. “Yeah, no big deal.” I set the ball on my desk and said, “I’m actually glad to you’re here.”

  “You don’t say.”

  I was grateful there was no mistletoe hanging in the office. He still had that look in his eye.

  “Don’t fluff your feathers quite yet. I’ve got news for you. About the McCorkle case.”

  Arching an eyebrow, he wore an amused—condescending—look on his face. “Like what?”

  He hated my snooping, but he couldn’t argue that I’d helped solve several murders. “Like...Glory Vonderberg’s first husband died mysteriously.”

  Okay, so I made up that mysteriously part.

  “Natural causes, Nina.”

  Leaning back in my chair, I eyed him. I hated being scooped. “Did you already interview her?”

  “Of course.”

  “Had Fairlane tried to blackmail her?”

  “No. She said she didn’t even know Fairlane.”

  I found that very hard to believe. Fairlane was hard to miss.

  “That’s too bad,” I said. “I thought we had a solid lead on our case.”

  Kevin said, “There is no ‘our,’ Nina.”

  I waved a hand. “Whatever. I’m as involved in this as you are. My plants were poisoned. My neighbors were murdered.”

  “Interesting that you put your plants first.”

  I shrugged. “I liked them better.” I rolled Flash’s ball around on my desk. “Did you find out anything with the bank statements?”

  “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

  “Not anytime soon.”

  He sighed. “There are some leads there.”

  Excited, I leaned forward. “Like what?”

  “Let’s just say a large withdrawal was taken out of one account and divided and deposited into two other accounts.”

  I read between the lines. Someone had paid off Fairlane and Lele, who split the money.

  “But,” Kevin said, “there’s a discrepancy with the amounts. The deposits made into the two accounts doesn’t equal the whole sum withdrawn, only two-thirds.”