Trouble In Bloom Read online

  "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.

  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 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? N
ot 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.

  I picked lint off my dark pants. "You know me a little better than Thad does."

  "A lot better."

  "I am not sleeping with you."

  "Did I ask?" He grinned again. Damn that dimple.

  "Well, no."

  "Then what are you getting so worked up about?"

  I powered down the window, letting the autumn air cool me down.

  He laughed. "You'll cave."

  The subject needed to be reestablished immediately. "Genevieve certainly didn't seem too worried about that death threat."

  "Maybe Thad was consoling her."

  I laughed. "Gives new meaning to consolation prize."

  Bobby smirked. "Or . . . "

  "What?"

  "What happens if Carson Keyes reports that new hostess Genevieve Hidalgo Sala received a death threat on the set of Hitched or Ditched?"

  Shifting in my seat, I took a good look at him. "Ratings for Hitched or Ditched go through the roof, just in time to ink the deal with the major network."

  "Exactly."

  Traffic slowed to a crawl near the Lockland Split. I took a deep breath. "Do you think Genevieve's that manipulative?"

  "Without a doubt."

  "It would explain about her not wanting the cops involved too."

  Bobby nodded. "I think, as Genevieve said, we should just mind our own business where she's concerned, and stay out of it."

  "Do you think Genevieve and Thad sleeping together affects Josh's case at all?"

  Bobby glanced at me. "Maybe. Maybe not. I'm not sure what Josh is hoping for us to accomplish. I can't imagine we'll learn anything in a week."

  "Perry seemed to know a lot. I can probably get more information from him."

  "Louisa didn't seem to mind telling me about Willie Sala's bad marriage. Seems Genevieve and Willie have been fighting a lot these days. I'll see what else I can get out of her."

  I didn't like the sounds of that last sentence. "Louisa?"

  "The production assistant. The cute one with the brown eyes, long blonde curly hair, nice lips."

  The one that had been eyeballing him during the meeting. I grit my teeth, trying not to be insanely jealous because he thought she was cute. I was very sure she was a no-good tramp. "She must hear everything."

  He smiled as if knowing, just knowing, what he was do ing to me. "I have to tell you, this is a lot more fun than new teacher meetings and planning sessions."

  "Don't go turning all Frank Hardy on me."

  "Tell the truth, you had a poster of Shaun Cassidy on your wall as a kid."

  "Two," I said, laughing. "Maria had three."

  He turned serious, his lips thinning, his eyes narrowing.

  "What?" I asked.

  "That. Your laugh. I've missed it."

  "Oh." Deep breath. Take a deep breath, Nina. I could handle the joking, the teasing. It was these brief moments of seriousness I had trouble with.

  Bobby exited the highway at Tylersville, turned right. "I'll call Josh in the morning, let him know what we've turned up so far. Did Willie hit on you at all? That would help solidify Josh's case."

  I accepted his change of subject. HoD was safe ground. "Nope. Not a single person did."

  "You sound depressed about that."

  Fiddling with the radio, I pretended to pout. "It hurts a girl's ego, you know."

  He laughed as he turned onto my street, the heart of the Mill, aka the Gossip Mill, located on the outskirts of Freedom, Ohio.

  Maple tree branches heavy with fire engine red leaves canopied the street, shading it from the late afternoon October sun.

  A brand new FOR SALE sign sat in the yard across the street from my house. The previous owner had died during the summer, a tragic accident.

  "You have company," Bobby said.

  I wasn't surprised. I always had company.

  My mother's car sat in my driveway.

  Celeste Madeline Chambeau Ceceri had been around a lot lately. She was in charge of the reconstruction of my house, since the renovation of my bathroom—a gift from her—had sent my second floor plummeting through the ceiling onto the first fl oor.

  That had been months ago, and à la Humpty Dumpty, my house still wasn't put back together again.

  My front door opened and my mother waved. "I've made dinner!"

  Inside, she kissed our cheeks. "Do tell everything!" she gushed. "Did you meet that dreamy Thad Cochran? Is he just as cute in person as he is on TV? He's just so . . . Sigh."

  She'd scratch Genevieve Sala's eyes out if she knew. "He's something. Where's Dad?" I asked, hooking my backpack purse on the rack near the cat clock with the creepy eyes and swaying tail. The clock had been a gift from my stepson Riley years ago, and I didn't dare part with it even though it gave me the heebies.

  "Late class."

  My father, a retired history professor, recently went back to work, teaching part-time at Freedom Community College.

  He says because retirement was boring.

  My gut says it was to keep from killing my mother. She was a lot to handle 24/7.

  Bobby pulled out a counter stool, sat, poked at the grapes sitting in a Tupperware bowl on the island.

  "Honestly, chérie, I couldn't be happier. He drove me crazy being at home all day. I need my space."

  "Your space." I laughed.

  She gave me the Ceceri Evil Eye. "Yes, my space. I've been working on Tam's baby shower. I haven't the time to baby-sit your father."

  Plucking a grape from the stem, I said, "I don't think Tam wants a baby shower." Tam Oliver, my right-hand woman at work, wasn't big on surprises. In fact, she hated them. "The baby's already seven weeks old. She probably already has what she needs."

  "Pah. She'll love it."

  I wasn't so sure.

  As my mother dished out chicken alfredo, she caught me staring at the huge hole in my living room ceiling.

  It was hard to miss. The contractor had to widen the original gap to fix the second fl oor fl oorboards. A job that was supposed to take tw
o weeks. It had been almost eight now.