Trouble Under the Tree (A Nina Quinn Mystery) (18 page)

“We can?”

“Nina, what he did was against the law.”

I nodded. “I’ll press charges, but isn’t it
going to turn into a he said, she said?”

“Probably. Are you ready for that?”

“There
was
a witness,” I said. The
office phone rang, and I heard Tam pick it up.

He sat straighter. “Who?”

“Jenny. I don’t know how much she saw, but
she definitely saw me take him down.” I told him about finding her
in the doorway.

“I’ll talk to her,” he said. “After all
that’s happened, she might be willing to testify if it gets to that
point.” He gazed at me. “Are you okay? Really okay?”

I thought about the panic, the adrenaline.
“I’m fine, but I just keep thinking about any other women he may
have cornered.”

His fists clenched. “Me, too.”

Tam tapped on the doorframe and stuck her
head in. “Sorry to interrupt, but Bobby is on the phone. I thought
you might want to take it.”

I glanced at Kevin. He said, “Go ahead, take
it. I’ll get some coffee.”

Tam said, “We’ve got donuts, too.”

He looked back at me. “I’m not the least bit
surprised by that.”

I waited till they were out of sight and
picked up the phone. “Bobby?”

“Hey,” he said. “I tried calling your cell
but it’s off.”

“Maria.”

“No other explanation needed.”

“How’re you?” I asked. “How’s your mom?”

“Still in the ICU, but doing a little better.
The doctors say she has a good chance of pulling through, it’s just
going to take time.”

“That’s great news.” I bit my lip. “Did the
doctors give you any kind of timeframe?”

There was a long pause. “Months, most
likely.”

My heart sank. “Oh.”

“That’s why I’m calling. I’m,” he cleared his
throat, “not going to be able to make it back for Christmas. I hate
to cancel our plans...”

“It’s okay,” I said. And it was. Really. It
just...hurt a little. “Family first.”

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely. I can drive down there so we can
spend the holid—”

He cut me off. “I still don’t think that’s a
good idea.”

“Bobby.”

He sighed. “Nina, this isn’t the place for
you. I’m at the hospital all day, then I’m writing at night. I’m
taking care of Mom’s stuff, my stuff, medical stuff, and barely
eating three meals a day. Not to mention Mac and all the trouble he
gets into. I’m a mess, I’m stressed, and I don’t think I can add
one more thing into the mix.”

One more thing. Meaning me. “I think being
together, no matter what we’re doing is what counts, even if it’s
at a hospital and not a country inn.” Why didn’t he think so, too?
We were supposed to be getting married. Didn’t he understand the
“for better or worse” part of the vows?

Or maybe he did. And didn’t want it.

“Not here. Not like this,” he said.

A heavy suffocating weight settled on my
chest, and I spun my chair to look out the window. The garden
behind the office was covered in snow, sparkling white in the
sunshine. The tears pooling in my eyes blurred everything. “Then
when?”

“I don’t know,” he said softly. “I’m going to
rent my house to Kit. The added income will come in handy.”

“You’ve thought a lot about this.”
I
thought my heart might be breaking clear in half.

“Yes.”

“And me?” I asked. “Where do I fit into your
plan?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t want to
lose you.”

Then why did it already feel like he’d let me
go?

“But,” he added quickly, “a long-distance
relationship isn’t fair to either of us, and the reality is that
I’m going to have to be down here for months. Maybe even a year
with all the rehab my mom will have to do.”

A tear slid down my cheek, and I whisked it
away. We had tried the long-distance thing before and it had failed
miserably. My voice cracked as I said, “Since you’re the one making
all the decisions about our future, how about you decide what you
want for certain and let me know?”

“Nina...”

I hung up. Maybe it wasn’t fair of me, but if
I’d stayed on the line I would have burst into tears. I kept trying
to tell myself that he was under a lot of stress right now, that I
should simply wait for him to have time for me—or to make time for
me—that he loved me and wasn’t purposefully tying to freeze me out
of his life.

But...the hard knot in my stomach told me
otherwise.

Either that, or
I
was coming down with
the flu, too.

“Nina?”

I spun around in my chair and found Tam in
the doorway, sympathy etched on her face.

“Want some chocolate?” she asked. “I’ve got a
secret stash of Toblerone. I’ll share.”

I managed a smile. “No thanks.”

“That bad?” she asked.

Biting my lip, I nodded.

“I’m so sorry, Nina.”

“Me, too.” I wiped my cheeks with the back of
my hand. “Where’s Kevin?” I croaked.

“He just left. He said he’d talk to you
later.”

“Did he hear everything?”

She nodded.

I clunked my head on my desk.

My day had gone from good to bad in the blink
of an eye. It couldn’t possibly get worse at this point.

The bells jingled on the front door. Tam
turned to see who’d come in and then whipped back to me. “Jenny
Christmas just walked in,” she whispered.

I’d been wrong. It could get worse. Much
worse.

Chapter Nineteen

Jenny came in, sat down, crossed her legs,
adjusted her skirt, and finally looked me in the eye. “Oh my God,
Nina. You look terrible. What’s wrong? Are you sick? Do you have
that stomach bug going around?”

I
so
wasn’t in the mood. “I think it’s
food poisoning. I had the chicken at Christmastowne’s food court
yesterday. You might want to look into that.”

She blanched. “You’re kidding.”

I shook my head. “I wish I was.” I was a good
liar, a skill that came in handy more often than I liked to admit.
“I don’t have a lot of time, Jenny. What are you doing here?”

Swallowing hard, she opened her purse and
pulled out a check. “I brought the final payment for the work you
did at Christmastowne.”

“You could have mailed it.”

“I know.” She set the check on my desk and
fidgeted in her seat. “There’s a little extra there. A bonus of
sorts, for the extra good job you did.”

My nerves were raw, and I had no patience
left. “Are you sure it’s not a payment for me keeping quiet about
Benny?”

She tipped her head and tried to look
confused. “Benny?”

“About how he came after me in your office
yesterday?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Her cheeks
turned crimson.

“Don’t you, Jenny? This money isn’t to buy my
silence?”

Her shoulders snapped back, her eyes
narrowed, and she jabbed a finger at me. “If you hadn’t been in the
office.”

I couldn’t believe she’d even tried to blame
this on me. I stood up. “Get out, Jenny. Now. Any extra money in
that check will be refunded to you. I’ve already spoken to the
police about what happened yesterday, and I will press charges
against Benny.”

Slowly, she rose. “No one will believe
you.”

I guess that meant she wouldn’t testify on my
behalf. So much for being friends. “We’ll see about that.”

Jenny said, “You don’t know what it’s like,
Nina, to live in someone else’s shadow.”

“Maybe not,” I agreed. “But I know I
certainly wouldn’t cover for someone who obviously doesn’t know
right from wrong. Especially if I was married to him.”

“Don’t you judge me.”

Oddly, when she said that phrase it wasn’t
the least bit amusing.

“Judged, tried, and convicted,” I snapped.
“It’s one thing to pretend you don’t know about his many affairs.
But it’s quite another to witness an assault and do nothing to stop
it. You’re just as guilty as he is. All to protect what, Jenny?
Your precious Christmastowne?”

“Go to hell, Nina. I earned Christmastowne.
And I won’t let you, or Benny, or anyone take it away from me. Do
you understand?”

She turned and stormed out.

As I sat back down, I thought about Fairlane.
If she’d go so far as to blackmail her own lover, why wouldn’t she
try blackmailing his wife, too? Had it been Jenny who’d paid
Fairlane off?

And in return, had it been Fairlane who paid
the ultimate price?

***

“I’m in a mood,” I announced as Maria opened
the door of her McMansion.

“Well, I’m still dying,” she said, “so we
make quite the pair.”

“Don’t get too close, then.” I held out a
take-out bag. In it had her soup, a baguette, and a big chocolate
cookie.

Gracie raced over and sniffed my feet. I
looked down at her and my eyes went wide. “What is she
wearing?”

Maria closed the door behind me. “A doggy
diaper.”

I pressed my lips together to keep from
laughing.

“What?” Maria said.

I followed her into a spacious family room.
“Does it seem to you that the diaper is wearing Gracie, rather than
the other way around?”

Maria stopped and studied the dog.
“Maybe.”

I wrinkled my nose. “What’s that smell?
Please don’t tell me it’s that diaper.”

“It’s lye. I made soap. Well, I tried to make
soap. It didn’t turn out so well.”

“Two things. One, when did you start feeling
sick? Because that smell is turning my stomach.”

She sat on her pristine white sofa. “You
might be on to something. I did start feeling sick while I was
making the soap. What’s the second thing?”

“Why on earth are you making your own soap?
Did you lose your job? Do you need to borrow some money?” I whipped
out my check book.

“What? No, I didn’t lose my job. And I don’t
need your money, though, if you want to throw money at me, I
wouldn’t be opposed to a new handbag. The Birkin bag is on my
Christmas list.”

“A Birkin bag that costs, give or take, ten
thousand dollars?”

“That’s the one.”

“That proves it. You’ve lost your mind.” I
sat next to her. “What is going on? The baking, the scarves, the
soap?” I glanced at the table. Dozens of old pictures were spread
out. “Don’t tell me you’re scrapbooking, too?”

She picked at her acrylic nails. “Nothing is
going on. I’m just looking for...a hobby.”

I tossed my hands in the air and fell back
onto the couch. “I can’t deal with this today.”

Pulling her soup out of the bag, she took of
the plastic top. “What’s going on with you?”

“Where to start?”

“With the good stuff, of course.”

“I think Bobby and I broke up.”

She spilled soup on the couch. “Shit!”
Dabbing the stain with a napkin, she glanced at me. “You’re not
kidding?”

I explained about his mother, the
long-distance thing, and how he didn’t want me to come down
there.

Maria set her soup on the table. “I don’t
understand.”

“Me, either.”

“What if you’d been married?”

I stared at her, wondering if she was trying
to make this more painful. “What do you mean?”

“What if you two were already married?” she
said again. “And this had happened to his mother? Would he have
divorced you? I don’t think so. You two would make it work,
long-distance or not.”

“Yeah!” I said, feeling validated. Then I
frowned. “But...”

“What?”

“It would be hard. Very hard. It would take
its toll. We’d probably fight. A lot. We’d get lonely.” I didn’t
want to think about what would happen then.

“So maybe he’s doing the right thing?” Maria
asked.

“If he is, why does it feel so wrong?”

“Because sometimes being right, and doing the
right thing, isn’t easy?”

Damn it. When did she get so wise? “This
sucks.”

“You want some of my cookie?”

I nodded.

She broke her cookie in half and handed it
over. We nibbled in silence. I looked at the photos on the table
and contemplated her scrapbooking.

A hobby, my foot.

Then I remembered when I stopped by the other
day how the curtain had shifted upstairs... “I’ll be right back.
Just gonna freshen up.”

She nodded and pulled a chunk of her baguette
off to dunk in her soup.

I bypassed the downstairs bathroom.

“Nina? Where are you going?”

“Just going to use the upstairs
bathroom.”

She jumped up. “What? No! Don’t go
upstairs!”

I sprinted for the steps. She raced after me.
Gracie ran around barking.

I’d almost made it to the top of the stairs
when Maria grabbed my ankle. I fell to my knees. I pulled out a
phrase from my past as I tried to shake her loose. “No playing on
the stairs!”

It was something my mother had always yelled
at us.

“Come downstairs, Nina!”

I finally freed my foot and dashed down the
hallway. I pushed open the guestroom door and gasped. Tears sprang
to my eyes. “Oh, Maria.”

“Now you’ve done it, Nina!” she said, coming
up behind me. “You ruined my surprise.”

The room had been freshly painted a light
yellow and a mural of baby ducks—maybe a scene from
Make Way for
Ducklings
?—took up one whole wall. There was a rocker and a
changing table and a decked-out crib. A shelf held a teddy bear, a
few toy blocks, and a shiny pink piggy bank.

I turned to her. “You’re pregnant?”

Slowly, she nodded. “About two months. I was
going to tell everyone on Christmas Eve at the big family
party.”

“You’re two months pregnant, and you’re
tackling me on the stairs and using lye?”

“Sometimes I forget.” She burst into
tears.

I pulled her into a hug. “Why the tears?”

“I’m going to be a horrible mom!” she
wailed.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am! I can’t cook, I can’t bake. I
can’t knit. I can’t even make soap. Every kid needs to use soap! I
can’t even diaper a dog! How am I going to diaper a baby?”