My confusion was that bad.
“Nina?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Sounds like something to me.”
“Too much time at the range. Your hearing’s going.”
He grunted. “Stubborn.”
“Why’d you call?”
“Russ Grabinsky.”
“You have heard something, then.”
“I haven’t heard about the charges, but the M.E. just faxed over the postmortem results.”
“And?”
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Heather Webber
“And they’re still waiting for the tox screens to come back, so it’s not a final report.”
“But?”
He didn’t lower his voice, so I assumed he was on his cell somewhere, safe from prying ears. “Heart attack. Ninety-five percent artery blockage. He was a walking time bomb.”
“A time bomb. One that could be set off by a surprise makeover?”
“I’m sorry.”
“So the prosecutor will probably file charges against me.”
“I don’t know. Nothing will happen until the toxicology reports come in. There could be something in there.”
Could be. But probably not.
I sighed. “Thanks for letting me know. I know you’re not supposed to be talking to me.”
“I’ll always do my best to protect you, Nina. You’ve got to know that.”
Funny thing was I did.
After dropping Riley off at Growl, I drove over to the Fallow Falls neighborhood.
I pulled right into Greta’s driveway, marched up the front steps, and rang the bell.
Coming here served two purposes. One was to avoid contact with Brickhouse Krauss at all costs. The other was to talk with Greta Grabinsky.
I wasn’t leaving until I saw her. That was that. I had too much to lose if I didn’t. She could sue the pants off me if she wanted, but I was not going to jail for something that wasn’t my fault.
I rang the bell again.
Greta held a lot of the answers I wanted. About Bill and Russ, those accounting books, the HOA lawsuit, the person threatening her, about finishing the backyard.
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Buzzing again, I tapped my foot. The pot of pansies on the front step looked pitiful, wilting in the sunshine.
Giving up on the buzzer, I rapped on the door. It opened on its own.
Immediately my defenses went up.
“Hello?” I called, pushing the door farther open with my elbow. “Mrs. Grabinsky? Greta?”
The adrenaline drowned it out.
I stepped into a small hallway. The lime green linoleum was worn and cracked but looked freshly cleaned. I came to two doorways, one on each side of me. I went left. The living room.
I gasped. Where the room had been immaculate the other day, it was now as though a twister had swept through, up-ending and damaging everything in its path.
My gaze immediately shot to the small end table where just two days ago the accounting books had sat. The over-turned table lay on its side.
I poked around as best I could without touching anything, but as far as I could tell, the accounting books were gone.
The sofa’s cushions had been slashed open, stuffing spilling out of the wounds. The couch itself had been tipped, its underside ripped open.
Someone had been looking for something.
