Trouble Under the Tree (A Nina Quinn Mystery) (17 page)

“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. Babysitting
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.”

I put Flash’s ball into my backpack. “Math
gives me a headache. Can you give me the Cliffs Notes version?”

Kevin grinned. “There might be a third party
involved.”

“With the con?” I asked.

Kevin nodded.

“Who?”

“I’m working on it, Nina.”

Patience was never one of my virtues. “Would
the bank withdrawal come from someone with a last name that rhymes
with isthmus?”

“Possibly.” He nodded.

Ah. So, Benny had paid off the sisters.

I thought of Benny and couldn’t help but
shudder. I’d been doing my best to forget about how he’d trapped me
in his office yesterday, but several times today I could still feel
his breath on my face. Phantom breath.
Ick
.

“What?” Kevin asked.

“What, what?”

“Something’s wrong.”

“How can you tell?”

“Nina, I was married to you for a long time.
I know when you’re upset.”

Hmm. I wasn’t so sure about that.

“What’s wrong?” he pressed.

I told him about what had happened with
Benny.

“Steel toes?” He winced.

“He deserved it.”

His eyes had darkened. “He deserves
worse.”

“What are you going to do?” I kind of wanted
him to meet Benny in a dark alley, but that was just me. Nina
Colette Bloodthirsty Ceceri Quinn.

“Bring him into the station. Are you willing
to press charges?”

“What kind of charges? I was the one doing
all the attacking.”

His lip quirked. “You were defending. We can
get him on a sexual battery charge, attempted at least.”