Trouble Under the Tree (A Nina Quinn Mystery) (16 page)

“Nothing. And I had the feeling she’d been
standing there a while, watching us. I mean, would she have stopped
him if he attacked me?”

“He did attack you!” Ana said. “You should
call the police.”

“Technically, he didn’t touch me. I did all
the attacking.”

“Even still,” Ana said.

“I’ll let Kevin know.” I hated the thought
that Benny might be forcing himself on women who didn’t willingly
return his attentions. “Maybe there’s something he can do.”

“Benny better buy himself a steel cup,
because Kevin kicks a lot harder than you do.”

As much as the thought of Kevin kicking
Benny’s ass appealed to me, he couldn’t do it. Not without risking
his job, at least.

I took a look around the tattoo shop and was
surprised—in a good way. It wasn’t the seedy little hidey-hole I
imagined, but rather an immaculately clean salon. Beautiful artwork
covered the walls, and it was brightly lit. I moseyed over to the
beverage cart and poured myself a Dr Pepper. I checked for
something to calm Ana’s nerves, but I didn’t think chamomile would
work in this case. Unfortunately for her, there was no hard
stuff.

“By the way,” Ana said, eyeing me with a wary
look.

“What?” I asked.

“What’s with that scarf?”

I fingered the soft purple yarn. “Maria.”

“She bought that? Doesn’t seem her
style.”

I sat down next to her on a leather couch.
“She made it.”

Ana’s eyes widened. “Holy shit.”

“I know.”

“So something is seriously wrong with
her?”

“Definitely.”

“You think Nate left her?”

“Only at my house last night.” He was getting
coal in his stocking, too. “He adores her.”

“Did she lose her job?”

I frowned. Maria worked at a fancy PR firm
and now that I thought about it, she hadn’t mentioned her job in a
long, long time. Which was strange, because she loved her work.

My mind started whizzing. If she’d lost her
job, then she and Nate lost a huge income. Would they be able to
afford the McMansion? The fancy cars? Maybe that’s why Maria had
taken up baking and knitting—to save money. I needed to find out
for sure. I’d more than willingly loan them money if it prevented
Maria from learning how to sew.

A busty woman came out from a room in the
back and smiled when she saw Ana. “Again?”

“I’m not going to pass out this time,” Ana
said, standing up.

She swayed a little bit, so I grabbed onto
her elbow. She was totally going to pass out again.

Busty looked like she knew it, too, but kept
the encouraging smile on her face as she led us back to a private
room.

Inside, a colorful palette of ink pots sat on
a rolling cart, and I tried really hard not to look at anything
that resembled a needle in any way. There was a foot pedal thingy
on the floor, and I realized that fed the ink into the needle.

Yikes.

Ana immediately hopped onto a table and laid
facedown. She wiggled her shirt up to reveal the
micro-constellation on her lower back. “Go ahead.”

Busty slipped on a pair of gloves, and I took
hold of Ana’s hand. “So,” I said, “it’s a good thing I’m done
working at Christmastowne, because I don’t think I’m going to be
allowed back.”

Busty shaved the area with a fierce looking
razor, then cleaned the skin with rubbing alcohol.

“Mmm-hmm.” Ana’s eyes were closed tight.

“Ready, Ana?” Busty asked, stretching Ana’s
skin.

“Sure,” Ana said in a reedy voice. She
squeezed my hand so tight I thought my thumb was going to
break.

“Ow! Ow! Ow!” I screeched.

“Moral support!” Ana cried.

“Physical abuse,” I countered.

Meanwhile, Busty had managed a curve of the
heart done in a vibrant red.

Ana suddenly froze. “Oh my God, is that
needle touching me? I feel it touching me! I don’t feel so
good.”

I spared another look. “She’s almost done,” I
lied.

And with that, Ana’s hand went slack as she
passed out.

“Shit,” Busty said, putting aside the needle
contraption aside. “She should just get a rub-on and be done with
it.”

“Can’t you finish while she’s—” I motioned to
Ana, who was out cold.

“Nah. That’s frowned upon.”

“How about some vodka?”

Busty shook her head. “I wish. I could use a
drink about now. We’re not allowed to work on anyone who’s clearly
impaired.”

“So, it’s going to take a year and a half to
get this tattoo done?”

She slipped off her gloves.
“Thereabouts.”

“Good to know.” I bit my lip and looked
around. “Do you sell rub-ons?”

***

“Your tattoo looks good,” Ana said as she
admired the sunburst on the back of my neck. “If only real tattoos
were so easy.”

The moon was high and bright as we made our
way to Nancy Davidson’s house, my GPS unit leading the way. The
roads were still a bit of a mess, and I had my four-wheel drive
activated.

Busty, at the tattoo parlor, had assured me I
could remove the rub-on with a little rubbing alcohol when I was
ready to take it off. I just wanted to see my mother’s reaction
first—a little Christmas present to myself.

“How am I ever going to get mine finished in
time for Christmas?” she asked. “Think I can learn self-hypnosis in
a couple of days?”

“Anything’s possible. I think you just need
to relax a little bit and try not to think about it.”

“Needles, Nina.”

She had a point. Even I, who didn’t mind
needles too much, had issues in that shop.

Ana adjusted the heat in the truck and leaned
back on the headrest. “This present was the worst idea ever.”

It certainly ranked up there with the time my
dad bought my mother a new cordless screwdriver. “Don’t give up
yet. There has to be a way.”

“Maybe if I’m medicated.”

I snapped my fingers. “That’s it! You need a
sedative, is all.”

“And I’ve got those laying around.”

“Maybe you don’t, but I know who does.” And
it would give me the perfect chance to show off my phony tattoo. I
explained to Ana about my mother’s sleep aids.

“Your mom is just full of surprises, isn’t
she?”

“Always.”

My GPS unit told me to turn right. It was
bossy like that. I had tried calling Nancy but the call kept going
to a voice mail box that hadn’t been set up yet so I couldn’t even
leave a message. I hoped she wouldn’t mind me dropping in.

I felt my tires slip a little when I crested
a hill on the narrow two-lane country road.

“Whoa,” Ana said. “Ice?”

Pricks of adrenaline suddenly coursed through
me. I didn’t know this road well, it was dark, and apparently not
well-salted. My anxiety didn’t ease the least little bit when I
passed a small white cross on the side of the road, a Christmas
wreath draped over it.

I shuddered and focused on driving, slowing
to a crawl.

“Are we close?” Ana asked.

“I think the address is on this road.”

My GPS chirped. “You have reached your
destination.”

Slowing to a stop in the middle of the road,
I looked around. There was nothing but trees and road.

Ana shifted in her seat nervously. “Stupid
technology. Maybe the house is up ahead?”

“What’s the address again? Maybe I entered it
wrong.”

She took out the file Jenny had thrust at me
and flipped through it. “8280 Winding Brook.”

I was thankful the street was deserted as I
drove on, practically leaning over the steering wheel to peer along
the sides of the road looking for any sign of a driveway. I’d had
to turn off the GPS since it was having a fit shouting,
“Recalculating.” About a mile down, I pulled up alongside a
mailbox.

“4420,” Ana said, a puzzled look on her
face.

I drove on. The next house, another half mile
down, was 3310.

“We missed it?” Ana asked.

I was starting to get a bad feeling about
this. I pulled into a driveway and backed out again.

Going back the way we came, the truck slid
left and right on patches of ice. I had broken out in a cold sweat.
These were steep hills, some with sheer drops. “I think it’s time
to go home. We can Christmas shop some other time.”

Ana didn’t argue, which told me how nervous
she was, too. She loved those little Hickory Farms mints.

Right before my turn to get back on the main
road, we came across a house tucked deep in the woods. I slowed at
the mailbox.

Ana said, “9873.” She frowned. “That would
put 8280 back at the top of the hill. There’s nothing up there but
trees.”

“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?”