I looked under the heading of Animal Rescue and found a listing for Pesky Pests. I didn't hesitate to call. Their voice mail told me they were out in the field and to leave my name and number. I did and hung up, feeling safer already, just knowing someone would be out soon to catch Xena.
Flipping off the radio, I grabbed the ever-present hockey stick and a package of raw cookie dough to munch on, and headed upstairs to change out of my all-purpose dress and into something more comfortable.
Feeling suddenly wary, I stopped at the top of the stairs. The hairs on the nape of my neck rose.
I couldn't deny that my instincts screamed that someone had been in the house. That someone might
still be
in the house. I took a deep breath, warding off impending panic.
Stuffing the cookie dough into the belt of my dress, I positioned the hockey stick defensively and crept down the hallway.
My heart beat wildly in my throat. My hands went clammy as they gripped the hockey stick. I kept my spine pressed to the wall and fought the urge to call Kevin.
A bead of sweat rolled down my temple. I tried not to breathe.
Ever so slowly, I inched my way down the hall. Stopping every few seconds to listen for noises only increased my anxiety.
With what felt like the grace of a pregnant hippo, I crossed the hallway and pressed my back against the opposite wall. Visions of the movie
Psycho
entered my thoughts as I stuck my head into the bathroom. I pushed the thoughts out resolutely. Thinking of serial killers at a time like this would do me no good at all.
After a quick scan, I headed farther down the hallway. Riley's door was closed. Slowly, I turned the knob, trying not to make any noise. I pushed the door open.
It looked like a bomb had gone off in his room—which was completely normal, so I turned my attention to my bedroom.
My lungs felt fit to burst. I exhaled, then inhaled deeply. My cheeks felt like they were on fire as I tiptoed down the hall armed with nothing more than a hockey stick and hot fudge sundae breath.
I swallowed hard and reached for the knob on my bedroom door just as a horn honked outside, scaring the crap out of me.
My blood sounded like a river rushing through my ears. I didn't even want to guess at my blood pressure.
I gripped the knob and suddenly felt it turning by its own volition. I yanked my hand back. My eyes widened and I flattened myself against the wall, holding my breath.
The door opened a crack, then wider still. All I saw was a tall image, arms full.
"Hi-yah!" I jumped away from the wall, swinging wildly with the hockey stick. I hit the person, once, twice, three times.
"Christ's sake, Nina!"
Kevin.
I swung again for sheer spite and was rewarded by a
sharp crack. He grabbed the hockey stick, and I let him yank it out of my hand.
"What the hell are you doing?" He tossed the stick aside.
Blood trickled from a cut on his forehead, but I felt no remorse.
"You scared the hell out of me! What are you doing here?"
"Packing!" He dabbed at his head. I saw a welt forming above his brow. Pride welled. I did good.
Clothes rested in a heap at his feet where he'd dropped them when I attacked. I recognized the shirt Riley had given him one Father's Day and a pair of boxers I had picked up for Valentine's Day a few years back. I steadily raised my gaze, not wanting to see any more.
"You scared the crap out of me," I whispered. "I didn't know you were here."
"I have my doubts about that." His voice mocked. His fingertips were red with blood as he dabbed at his gash.
"Where's your car? It wasn't in the driveway when I pulled in."
"Ginger dropped me off. I heard her honk a minute ago."
Ginger. My blood heated. Who named their child Ginger? It was a ridiculous name.
"Don't drip blood on my carpet."
"You nearly kill me with that damn hockey stick, and all you can think about is the rug?"
"You're right. Go ahead and drip." Under my breath, I added, "I've wanted new carpet for years now."
"Nina," he said on a sigh.
I leaned against the door frame, coming down from my adrenaline rush.
His eyes squinted in humor. "Is that cookie dough, or are you just happy to see me?"
Jokes. He was making jokes. I glared.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "Couldn't resist."
After an uncomfortable second, I said, "You still coming for supper tomorrow?"
He bent down to scoop up his clothes, saying nothing, which told me more than I wanted to know.
I clenched my fists. "You will be here."
He stood, looked square into my eyes. "I'll be here."
"Good."
The leg of one of his pairs of jeans dangled over his arm. I swallowed hard.
"But there is one thing I want to talk to you about before then."
The horn honked again. Kevin glanced toward the window.
"If this is about the Sandowskis there's nothing you can say or do to change my mind about helping them."
His eyes widened, then he shook his head. "I don't think I even want to know, Nina."
I noticed his shock, and a feeling of uncertainty replaced my earlier fear. "If not the Sandowskis, then what?"
"Riley."
"Is he okay? It's those boys he's hanging out with. Did he tell you about them?"
"He's fine, Nina. Those kids are harmless."
My left eyebrow rose. Uh-oh. "What is it that you aren't telling me about those kids? Ry's vice principal seems to think they're trouble."
"I've looked into it. They're fine."
My other eyebrow arched. This was definitely not good news. I let it pass for now.
"What about Riley, then?"
Another honk. Kevin went to the window, opened it, and called down to Ginger that he needed a few minutes. He turned back to me.
I pressed my lips together to keep from saying something snide.
"I think that, for now, Riley would be best staying here with you."
"With me?" A wash of joy mixed with utter devastation raced through me. The joy for myself, the devastation for Riley. This was not going to go over well. "You're his father."
"I know. I know. It's just that Ginger's place is kind of small."
Kevin was talking to the floor, which meant he was trying to hide something.
I crossed my arms. "Does Ginger want kids someday, Kev?"
"Never talked about it," he said to my low-heeled pumps.
"Really. I would think that would be something that would come up between two people so in love." I drew out the word love.
His head snapped up. "It hasn't come up."
My eyebrows were practically in my hairline.
"It couldn't be that 'Paprika' doesn't like kids, can it? I'd imagine a fifteen-year-old might cramp you two's lifestyle."
"Are you enjoying yourself?"
I looked up at him. At six foot three, he loomed over me, I once found his height appealing. Now it was just damned annoying. Poking my finger into his chest, I said, "On a certain level, yes, I'm enjoying seeing you blunder your way through this. I don't mind having Riley here. I'd rather have him here with me, but he's never going to understand this."
"Yes, he will."
"Kevin, Riley still feels like Leah abandoned him even though she
died
—how in the world do you think he's going to react to this news?" Riley's mother, Leah, had been killed when he was just four, a boating accident of some sort that no one ever talked about.
He grabbed my hand. "I'm not abandoning him."
"Like hell." I itched to pick up the hockey stick and finish him off.
"He's not going to think that. I'll explain everything."
I flung up my arms. "You're so blind." Shaking my head, I paced. "You tell me he's not up to his neck in some cockamamie group who're bound to get him into trouble, then you tell me he won't think you're abandoning him. You're nuts."
"There's nothing going on with Riley!"
An ache pulsed at my temples. "You'll be here tomorrow night," I ordered. "And you'll sit down, look him in the eyes, and tell him that there just isn't enough room in your life for him right now."
"It's not like that."
"That's a load of crap!"
"I'll see Riley," he countered. "I can still do things with him. On weekends and stuff. It's just not feasible for him to live with me right now."
"Feasible," I repeated, numb.
He brushed past me. "This isn't getting us anywhere. I'll be back tomorrow."
His footsteps echoed on the stairs, then out the front door.
I crept to the window, staying hidden behind the curtains. Kevin threw open the back door of his unmarked and tossed his clothes in. With one last glance at the house, he lowered his large body into the car and Ginger drove away.
I thought about the expression on his face as he'd looked up at the house. It had resembled guilt.
Good.
Ten
I had the worst habit of cleaning when I was nervous. I couldn't be a normal person and just twitch. Oh no, not Nina Colette Neurotic Ceceri Quinn. I had to pull out the dust rags and run them over furniture. I even vacuumed the living room, but I had to admit I had an ulterior motive in that case. I'd hoped to suck up a snake.
So much for my relaxation time. I'd already used half of it cleaning. And after my little talk with Kevin had turned my stomach, I didn't even eat my cookie dough.
Pesky Pests still hadn't returned my call from earlier. I was going to have to do something drastic if Xena didn't turn up soon. Like evacuate the premises. I had too much going on in my life to worry about that snake.
The phone rang and I jumped a mile. My nerves were shot. Between Farmer Joe and those hang-up calls . . . This couldn't go on much longer or I'd be forced to medicate myself.
I reached for the phone.
"Hey there, Nina, it's Tim Sandowski."
Smiling, I wrapped a finger around the phone cord. "How've you been? Congrats on the baby. That's such great news."
"Thanks." He paused. "I know Bridget saw you yesterday, got you involved in what's going on at the farm."
"I'm glad to help," I said, not quite sure I meant it anymore.
"That's why I'm calling. I don't think it's a good idea, you being involved."
Sounds like he'd been talking to Bridget.
"Do you think," he said, "you could hold off on looking into things for a while? Until we have a chance to talk indepth about it? Bridget said something about dinner on Friday?"
I guess telling him about my meeting with Chanson was out. "I don't know, Tim," I hedged. "I've got a few things lined up."
"Can you reschedule?"
Why wasn't he more interested in what I was doing? "I can try," I said, with no intention of trying at all.
"Thanks, Nina. See you Friday."
Hmmph. I rested the telephone in its cradle, stared at it. Why was I beginning to feel like no one wanted my help?
My self-esteem could seriously get damaged.
Sighing, I trudged up the stairs.
Unfortunately, avoidance was another one of my habits. And I had avoided looking into the closet and seeing Kevin's stuff gone. I carried Pledge with me, lying to myself that I was just going to clean a bit. I still had half an hour to kill before I headed downtown.
Unfortunately, the room hadn't changed since Kevin had left almost an hour ago. Spots of blood still spattered the rug, the bed was still unmade. My jammies were tossed over my pillow, and a
Good Housekeeping
magazine lay on the floor where I had dropped it last night.
Then I stepped into the closet.
Most of his hangers were empty. He'd left a few things: a sweatshirt, a crew-neck sweater, a pair of pants I knew were too small for him.
A knot of tension wound in my stomach.
I opened his chest of drawers in the back of the walk-in closet. Most were empty. He'd left a plain white T-shirt, a pair of brown socks.
I picked up the T-shirt and brought it up to my nose. Inhaling deeply, I felt my throat tighten, my eyes pool, as his scent washed over me. I swallowed hard and dropped the shirt.
Slammed the drawer closed.
Flopping on the bed, I tried to get a grip on my emotions. I flung my arms over my head in dramatic desperation. I heard a crinkling sound. I sat up slowly.
Pressing my hands to the comforter, I searched for the source of the noise. Nothing. Maybe I had imagined it. I was beginning to feel paranoid. This afternoon with Kevin hadn't helped.
I was about to give up when I brushed my hand over my pj's. There. I heard it again. I lifted my long nightshirt and a piece of paper fluttered to the floor. Bending down, I picked it up. Pasted using cutouts of magazines and newspaper, it said:
Stay away from Sandowski's Farm or face the conse
quences.
I raced out of the room and down the stairs and into the kitchen. My legs wobbled. Someone had been in my house. Someone other than Kevin. That was why I had picked up on those strange vibes.
I heard a steady
thump
, a shovel against ground. Looking out my kitchen window, I spotted Mr. Cabrera clearing the area for his spy shack.
The humidity had swelled the wood of the backdoor and I had to give it a hard shove to get it open.
"Mr. Cabrera?" Maybe he'd seen something, heard something.
"Miz Quinn."
He continued to dig and I picked up a half moon to help. Working out some of my fear by fighting with the stubborn clay soil was just the thing I needed right now.
I didn't want to come right out with my questions, so I asked about Mrs. Krauss instead. I'd gone over bright and early that morning, before my meeting with Chanson, to ask for his help dealing with her. He'd balked, until I told him that technically he needed a permit to install a gazebo, a permit that could take we
eks, e
xcept I knew a few people in the zoning department . . .