Trouble Under the Tree (A Nina Quinn Mystery) (7 page)

“You,” I said. “Maybe doing a little
nocturnal sneaking around. With Snoopy? And Woodstock.”

Her brown eyes widened. She had her dark hair
pulled up in a sloppy bun and wore a pair of plaid lounge pants and
a
The
Ohio State sweatshirt. If her clients could only see
her now—they might go back to a life of crime.

“You skipped the eggnog,” she said, “and went
straight for Kit’s flask, didn’t you? It makes sense, considering
the dead Mrs. Claus and all.”

Even though I hadn’t known her well, there
was an ache in my chest, a tug of grief for Lele. She had been a
nice woman—at least toward me. Who had killed her. And why?

I plopped down next to Ana on the couch, and
she offered popcorn from her bowl. “I’m perfectly sober.”

“Then maybe I should get you a drink, because
you’re not making any sense. Snoopy?”

I eyed her. “Last night, someone set up a
giant Christmas lawn decoration at my mother’s house. One of those
inflatable snow globe things—Snoopy and Woodstock. It’s actually
very cute.”

Ana’s mouth dropped open and a piece of
popcorn fell out. She picked it off her lap and popped it back into
her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. Suddenly, she started laughing.
“An inflatable Snoopy snow globe? At Aunt Cel’s?” She fell backward
onto the couch cushions and kept laughing. Tears streamed from her
eyes, and she held her stomach as if it ached. “Oh, oh! My stomach
hurts. My cheeks, too. A snow globe. Priceless.” She wiped tears
away.

“You didn’t put it there?” I asked, not sure
I believed this fit of laughter wasn’t to throw me off her
scent.

“I wish I did. That’s classic.” She massaged
her cheeks. “Oh, I wish I could have seen Aunt Cel’s face this
morning when she saw it. You don’t know who did it?”

“I thought it was you!”

Ana shook her head. “Nope.”

I crunched a piece of popcorn. “Then why were
you late to my party last night? And don’t tell me you were
working. I’m not buying.”

A guilty flush flooded her cheeks.

“Aha!” I accused.

“Aha yourself,” she countered. “I wasn’t at
work, but I wasn’t plotting the Great Snow Globe Escapade either.
Though, really, I wish I’d thought of it.”

“Then where were you?”

She rolled her eyes and set the bowl of
popcorn on the table. “Trying to finish Kit’s Christmas present,”
she said slowly.

“Finish his shopping?”

“No, his
present
.”

“You’re making something?” She was the least
crafty person, besides my sister Maria, that I knew.

She scrunched up her face. “No.”

“I’ve had a long day and not a single drink,”
I said. “Could you just tell me? I don’t have it in me for twenty
questions.”

“Promise not to laugh?”

I sat up, suddenly very interested.
“Maybe.”

She frowned at me, stood up, and pulled off
her sweatshirt. “Whoa!” I said. “What’re you doing? You’re not
taking one of those stripper pole gym classes to learn a few moves,
are you? As a surprise for him?”

She winked at me. “Been there, done
that.”

“
Ew
! Too much information!”

She pulled up the back of her tank top.
“See?”

I stared at the small of her back. “What am I
looking at?”

“That.” She twisted and pointed.

I leaned in, so close that my nose was almost
touching her waistband. “Freckles?”

“Those aren’t freckles.”

“What are they?”

“It’s the start of my tattoo.”

Shocked, I looked up at her. “A tattoo?”

“Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not judging,” I said, totally judging.
Ana and a tattoo? Her mother would kill her. On second thought,
Aunt Rosa had probably given Ana the idea. “I’m just a little
surprised. Considering how you feel about needles.” There were
three or four little dots on her back. “Is it supposed to be a
constellation or something?”

She sighed and pulled her shirt down. “It’s
supposed to be a heart with my and Kit’s initials in it. But every
time I go, and the needle touches my skin, I pass out. I’ve been
there three times already. I tried again last night with the same
result.”

I pressed my lips together. Hard.

“You promised not to laugh!” she cried,
tossing a piece of popcorn at my head.

“I said ‘maybe,’” I mumbled.

“It’s not funny, Nina.”

My eyes watered, and I fanned them with my
hand.

“What am I going to do? I can’t think of a
single other present for him.”

The urge to laugh uncontrollably finally
faded. “Yeah, considering you already did the stripper pole
thing.”

“Tell me about it. I should have saved that
for Christmas. What was I thinking?”

I didn’t want to know.

“Besides, I really wanted to do this for
him,” she said. “Show him I’m committed. Plus, you know how he
likes tattoos.”

“I think he likes you more.” I wasn’t sure
about that at all—the man had the strangest fixation with ink.
“He’ll like anything you get him.”

“You’re not helping.”

“Let me think on it.”

“Think fast,” she said. “Christmas is next
Sunday.”

“I will. So,” I hedged. “Committed, eh?”

Ana wasn’t known for long-term
relationships.

Her cheeks colored. “I think so. Maybe. I
don’t know. I really like him, Nina. You won’t tell him, will
you?”

I smiled. I’d never seen her so
head-over-heels. “My lips are sealed.” I stood up. “I’ve got to go.
I need to stop by Maria’s on the way home. Apparently, she’s acting
strangely.”

“More than usual?”

“She’s baking.”

Ana gasped.

“I know.” As I pulled open the door, a big
black blur barreled down on me. I braced myself as BeBe, Kit’s
massive mastiff, threw her paws on my chest and slobbered my
face.

Kit followed behind her, carrying a bag of
take-out Chinese food.

“Only action you’ll see for a while with
Bobby out of town,” he said, winking.

I gave BeBe some love and attention, and
said, “Don’t remind me.”

***

A few minutes later, I pulled into Maria’s
driveway. She lived in a McMansion on the edge of town. The house
was done up much as my mother’s—with dazzling white lights and
tasteful decorations. I knocked on the door and waited. There was
no noise coming from within at all—not even a yap from Maria’s
neurotic Chihuahua, Gracie.

As I climbed back into my truck, I could have
sworn I saw a curtain shift in the upstairs window—one of the guest
rooms.

I frowned and kept watching to see if it
happened again. It didn’t.

After a few minutes, I drove off.

It must have been only my imagination.

Chapter Six

Bright and early Monday morning, I sat in my
office. I had a lot of paperwork to sort through and phone calls to
return. ’Tis the season to set up garden makeovers for the
spring.

I’d given everyone else the day off so I was
a little surprised when I heard the front door of the office
open.

“Hello?” I called out.

Brickhouse appeared in my doorway. Her hair
was a bit perkier this morning, but her body hadn’t returned to its
normal brick-shape yet.

She clucked as she set a box of donuts on my
desk, and I immediately forgave her for every insult she ever
hurled my way. I picked through the offerings and said, “What’re
you doing here? You’re not supposed to be back until tomorrow.”

Leaning against the doorjamb, she shrugged.
“Thought I would make sure you’re not running this place into the
ground.”

I waved a glazed donut at her. “You’re lucky
you came bearing gifts, but suddenly I’m reminded of a certain
Trojan horse.”

Smiling, her eyes twinkled. She looked so
much healthier than she had in the past few weeks. Her break from
Mr. Cabrera was paying off.

Picking at the paint on door, she said, “The
news isn’t saying much about Lele McCorkle’s murder. Is it true
that Christmastowne is reopening today?”

Ah. The donuts had been in trade for
information. Unfortunately for Brickhouse, I didn’t know much.
“It’s true.”

“The police are already done with their
investigation?”

“No, but they’ve cleared the scene.”

“Kevin hasn’t told you anything?”

I shook my head. When he picked up Riley last
night, he hadn’t shared any information at all. Probably in
retaliation for the video Kit made—which reminded me that I still
needed to get that from him.

“And Fairlane?” Brickhouse asked. “She’s not
saying anything?”

I didn’t mention that I’d seen Fairlane going
into Mr. Cabrera’s house last night. Some things Brickhouse just
didn’t need to know. “Not that I’ve heard. She’s been keeping a
low-profile since Saturday.”

Since the murder.

Which was probably smart, considering that
she may have been the intended victim.

When I mentioned that fact to Kevin, he’d
grunted at me but didn’t say anything. I hoped he took my theory
seriously.

I set my donut down and frowned at it. Only
the thought of a murder could make me lose my appetite for a Krispy
Kreme.

Brickhouse said, “Do you still think it was
supposed to have been Fairlane killed?”

“Everyone liked Lele. It doesn’t make sense
that she was the intended victim.”

“What about her past?” Brickhouse asked.

“What about it?”

She clucked. “Maybe she has some skeletons in
her closet?”

I poked at a flake of glaze clinging to my
donut. “I don’t really know anything about her past. Do you?”

“Not a thing.”

Strange that we’d been neighbors for months,
but I didn’t really know much about the sisters. I didn’t even know
if either had been married. Or had kids or other family.

“
Ach
. I did hear that Lele wasn’t
happy at Christmastowne.”

“You did?”

She nodded.

“Who said so? And why wasn’t she happy?”

“Donatelli said Lele told him she didn’t like
working there. That she’d seen some strange things going on.”

I put my hand up. “Wait, wait. First,
Donatelli
told you? When were you talking to Mr.
Cabrera?”

She shrugged coyly. “He might have stopped by
with some strudel yesterday.”

“And you let him in?”

“I’m feeling much better these days.”

Well,
Mr. Cabrera
wouldn’t be if she
found out about Fairlane’s late-night visit to him. I rolled my
eyes. “What kind of strange things?”

I wondered if it had anything to do with the
missing toys Riley had noticed.

“Lele said she wouldn’t share the ‘sordid’
details with him. That she wasn’t a snitch.”

“Sordid? That was her word?” Toy thefts might
be called a lot of things, but sordid wasn’t one of them.

Brickhouse nodded. “Makes you wonder.”

It did. Sordid sounded like there might have
been some hanky-panky going on behind all that tinsel at
Christmastowne. But who had Lele been referring to?

More importantly, how could I find out?

The phone on my desk rang, and even though it
was before office hours, I picked it up. “Taken by Surprise, Garden
Designs, this is Nina.”

“Nina, oh my God, you have to get over
here.”

It was a near-hysterical woman. “Who is
this?”

“It’s Jenny! Jenny Christmas.”

Brickhouse had moved closer so she could
eavesdrop, so I put the call on speakerphone. She’d brought donuts
after all.

“Jenny? What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” she cried. “My whole life. But
right this very minute? Every poinsettia you planted last week has
shriveled up and died. I need you to get rid of the dead ones and
replace them with new ones by the time the doors open at
eleven.”

I could feel my eyes widen.

Brickhouse clucked softly and shook her
head.

“I’m not sure that’s possible, Jenny,” I said
as gently as I could. There were hundreds of poinsettias at
Christmastowne. Replacing them all would take a couple of days—not
hours—and that was if my supplier had enough in stock. If.

“Make it possible, Nina,” Jenny snapped. “I
paid you a lot of money for those plants. Get me new ones, and get
them now! Make it happen, or I will drag your name through the mud
alongside mine. Got it?”

She hung up on me.

“Whoa,” I said, staring at the phone.

“I never liked that Jenny Chester.”
Brickhouse clucked. “She made faces, too.”

Obviously, Brickhouse could hold a
grudge.

I stood up, then sat down, then stood up
again. “We have to remove the dead plants at least. Can you call
and see how many poinsettias our supplier has on hand?”

She nodded. “What do you think happened to
those plants?”

I curled my hands into fists. One of them
dying...I could see that. But
all
of them? There was only
one answer. “Sabotage.”

And whoever was behind it had just made it
very personal.

***

Calling in help wasn’t as easy as I expected,
especially as today was a day off for my crew. Some of my employees
either didn’t have their phones turned on—or didn’t answer them. So
I did the only thing I could—promised lots of favors to
friends.

“Thanks for helping me out,” I said to the
crowd gathered, trowels in hand. I glanced from face to face and
felt a warm gush in my chest. These were the people I could count
on when I needed them most.

“Anytime, Miz Quinn,” Mr. Cabrera said.

My neighbors Flash Leonard and Mrs. Daasch
nodded. As did Tam (with baby Niki strapped to her chest). I was
beyond grateful anyone had responded to my SOS. “Kit will be here
any minute with the replacement poinsettias, but for now, we need
to start digging up the dead plants.”

It had been a little over an hour since
Jenny’s call had come in, and we were gathered in Christmastowne’s
atrium. There were a hundred poinsettias—at least—in this area
alone.