Digging Up Trouble

“Do I want to know?” Maria asked.

“No.”

“Okay, then. Come see the plans. They’re gorgeous. Just gorgeous.”

I stopped dead in my living room. The ceiling where the dining room used to be before Aunt Chi-Chi renovated now had a very large, very gray stain in it. One that dripped onto a large tarp covering my hardwood floor.

“Minor,” Maria said.

“Really?”

“Not to worry.”

Oh, I was worried.

“Come, come. Come look.”

“I need a minute.” To . . . regroup. Maria wasn’t happy with the delay. She pouted.

The phone rang as I passed it, heading for the back door.

The caller ID listed a toll-free number. Telemarketer. I didn’t answer, but it did remind me that I hadn’t checked my cell lately.

I tracked it down, took it and Bill’s letters out to Mr.

Cabrera’s gazebo.

The ivy he’d started up the sides of the gazebo had taken off, nearly reaching eye level. I’d convinced him to plant it, even though he hadn’t wanted to. When I pointed out how rude it was to spy on others, he’d reluctantly put it in. But I noticed he kept trimming it back.

My voice mail had three messages. The first one was from Bobby, who told me he would be out of town for a few days, working on a hundred-year-old house near Columbus. Lots of scraping and prep work, so he’d be staying in a hotel up there.

It would give me time, he said, to think about what he’d said.

Digging Up Trouble

181

The second message was from Tam. She’d been sprung from the hospital and was at home at Ian’s farm in Lebanon if anyone needed her.

The third message, another from Bobby, simply said, “I miss you already.”

I sighed and dropped the phone into my pocket.

For a few minutes I sat there staring at Bill’s letters, wondering why I’d taken them.

I told myself that it was none of my business, but then my sense returned. It was my business. Absolutely my business.

Bill and Lindsey duping me had made it that way. And the lawsuit and possible murder charges had cemented it.

Not that I had to worry about the lawsuit anymore. Unless there were family members eager to pick up where Greta had left off.

There was Noreen—would she pursue the lawsuit?

Both letters had been opened—by Bill, I assumed. I pulled a single piece of paper out of each envelope and stared at them long and hard.

The first thing I noticed was the font. Every little i was raised slightly above the rest of the text.

The first letter read:

I know what you are do i ng. It w i ll cost to not tell. I w i ll contact you aga i n soon.

The second curled my toes.

You w i ll call Taken by Surpr i se Garden Des i gn and arrange to have the backyard of Russ and Greta Grab i nsky landscaped at your cost.

I stared at the letters for a long time.

Bill was being blackmailed.

By whom?

What kind of oddball blackmailed for landscaping?

And what did the blackmailer know about Bill that he’d so readily do it?

182

Heather Webber

Something with the accounting books? I could easily see them sitting on the table in the Grabinsky house . .