Digging Up Trouble

45

Everyone stood in silence, just watching.

After twenty minutes of futile effort one of the paramedics made a phone call. After he hung up, he and his partner started putting away their gear.

Out of nowhere a sheet appeared, and they draped it over the man’s face and shoulders, leaving his arms and legs sticking out, like some sort of off-kilter stick figure.

I turned away.

Several officers now swarmed the yard, clearing people out. Kit had disappeared. I assumed he was off coddling BeBe. Marty, Coby, and Stanley Mack had moved to the shade under the eaves of the house.

People began speaking as they walked away, softly at first, but then more loudly. I was able to pick out pieces of conversation.

I didn’t like him, but I’d never wish this on him.

Hasn’t seen his kid in ten years.

A bastard to work with too.

The way he treated Greta . . . the man should have been in jail.

Neighborhood will be better now that he’s gone.

I heard his wife was hoping he’d have a heart attack when he saw the yard. That’s why she hired these people.

Rumors flew. I wanted to yell that this man’s wife hadn’t hired me at all. Lindsey Lockhart had. To surprise her husband Bill.

But the man on the ground wasn’t Bill. And this yard apparently wasn’t the Lockharts’.

Lindsey had lied to me.

I tapped someone on the shoulder. The man turned, his light blue eyes narrowing. I said, “Do you happen to know this man’s name?”

“Russ Grabinsky,” he said. “The lowest form of scum that ever lived.”

46

Heather Webber

Ohh-kay. “And he lived here?” I asked, double-checking.

“For over thirty years.”

“Where, ah, do the Lockharts live?”

The man hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the house next door, the one with the cute picket fence and greenhouse.

“There. Why?”

“No reason.”

We both looked back at the covered body.

“I’m glad he’s dead,” he said, then stalked off, stopping to speak with Kate Hathaway for a brief moment before storm-ing down the hill.

I forced my mouth closed. It’s one thing not to like a man, but another to say you’re glad he’s dead.

My gaze went back to the body on the ground.

Russ Grabinsky. Grabinsky. I’d heard the name before, but I couldn’t place it. It had been recent too.

I cursed getting older just as a uniformed officer came over to me. “Hello, Nina.”

“Hey, Davis.” The Freedom Police Department was very close-knit. Everyone knew everyone. I wondered how long it would take for this incident to get back to Kevin.

“Bad day, huh?” Davis asked, tapping his small notebook.

I bit back any sarcastic comments. No need to antagonize.

“I’ve had better.”

“Just need to ask a few questions.”

I nodded.

“Who hired you?”

“Lindsey Lockhart.”

“She here?”

I looked around, didn’t see her traitorous self anywhere.

I’d known something was off about this job. Dammit. When was I going to listen to my instincts? “No.”

“She live here?”