Digging Up Trouble

  For my family,

  who ply me with plenty of story ideas . . .

  and hugs.

  A great combination.

  All my love.

  Contents

  One

  Thou, Nina Colette Ceceri Quinn, shall not hire any more…

  Two

  I set the design board for the Lockharts’ yard on…

  Three

  White-knuckled, Tam clenched the steering wheel. “He’s fine. Just fine.…

  Four

  I’d barely slept at all last night between worrying about…

  Five

  Kit immediately handed me BeBe’s leash and started CPR. I…

  Six

  An hour later I stood staring at the mess in…

  Seven

  I finally headed back to the office around six. It…

  Eight

  I parked down the block. I told myself it was…

  Nine

  I resisted temptation to head to the hospital to visit…

  Ten

  “Do you want to have kids?”…

  Eleven

  “Why not marry him?” Ana asked as she drove I-75 south,…

  Twelve

  Hairy-chested Alan snatched my wig back, set it on my…

  Thirteen

  I was afraid to go home, but since I didn’t…

  Fourteen

  I searched for a parking spot near the Sandruzzis’ house…

  Fifteen

  Growl had been in business for about a year now,…

  Sixteen

  The Magic Sun Chinese Buffet had the best egg rolls…

  Seventeen

  The chimes sang as I pulled open the TBS door,…

  Eighteen

  I’d been told not to go anywhere by the baby-faced…

  Nineteen

  By four-fifteen I was in a seriously bad mood.

  Twenty

  “You can stop saying sorry,” Riley said, climbing into my…

  Twenty-One

  Tuesday morning I sat at my desk, trying to massage…

  Twenty-Two

  Dale didn’t look happy to see me. I didn’t take…

  Twenty-Three

  By Wednesday afternoon I hadn’t heard from Tam. I’d left…

  Twenty-Four

  It was one of those hot muggy July days that…

  Twenty-Five

  I looked up from the hummingbird garden plans on my…

  Twenty-Six

  I drove around until I finally found myself parked in…

  Take Your Garden by Surprise

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other Romances

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  One

  Thou, Nina Colette Ceceri Quinn, shall not hire any more unreliable ex-cons.

  Not an easy commandment, to say the least, since I really couldn't tell who was reliable and who wasn't until they started working for me.

  I frowned. Talk about a Catch-22.

  The trick was weeding out the good from the bad. As I looked around my office conference room, I realized I'd certainly found a few good ones in Kit Pipe, Deanna Parks, Marty Johnson, and Coby Fowler. And of course Tam Oliver, who sat in her throne chair in the reception area pretending she wasn't eavesdropping.

  My business, Taken by Surprise, Garden Designs, had thrived over the last few years because of their hard work. And getting any specialized landscaping business to thrive in this day and age was notable, but here in small-town Freedom, Ohio, it was a miracle. This was middle-class country, the heart of the Midwest, and I charged upper-class prices for my day-in, day-out yard makeovers.

  It was the bad experiences with my rap-sheeted workers that made me question my hiring practices. Currently, one worker in particular.

  "So, no one's seen him?" I asked, looking down the long rectangular table. It was littered with soda cans, coffee cups, and the sad remains of two dozen Krispy Kremes.

  "Not since he left yesterday afternoon." Deanna twirled a pencil like a baton. "Said he had an appointment he couldn't miss. And he was all dolled up too. I smelled him coming through a closed door."

  The "he" in question was Jean-Claude Reaux, who tended to wear too much cologne, and who was currently MIA. He'd worked for me three years.

  He'd started out as a laborer, but I soon noticed he had an uncanny instinct for finding unique items and fabrics to go with my designs. He still did labor—we all did—but now he had a lot more input on these design meetings.

  Like the one we were in now.

  Like the one he hadn't shown up for.

  "We can't wait much longer," Kit put in. Kit was my right- hand man.

  I found myself staring at him. Not because he was sixfoot-five, 250 pounds. Or that his eyes had been tattooed with dark liner sometime in the late eighties. It was because I couldn't get used to the sight of him with hair.

  Hair, of all things.

  This from a man who practically spit-shined the skull tattoo on his bald head. The tattoo now covered with downy soft-looking brown fuzz.

  "Stop staring," he said.

  "I can't help it."

  He growled. "Try."

  "I kind of like it," Deanna said.

  Lord, was she blushing? I groaned. I didn't need Deanna having a crush on Kit. Interoffice romances were somewhat prohibited (I'd been known to bend the rules), but that wasn't why. It was because I really didn't want to see anything happen to Deanna—Kit's live-in girlfriend, Daisy, was the jealous type.

  Or so I'd heard. No one had ever seen her. Not even once.

  Which certainly piqued my nosiness.

  "Me too," Coby singsonged, and batted his eyelashes.

  Kit's eyes narrowed. In a dangerous whisper he said, "See what you did?"

  "Me?" I asked. "What did I do?"

  "You stared."

  "Oh for heaven's sake. Sue me." At Kit's growl, I rushed on. "So, where were we?"

  "Staring." Deanna's cheeks were still rosy.

  Kit crushed a Mountain Dew can.

  I ignored him and riffled through the papers in the file in front of me. "No, before that."

  "Jean-Claude," Marty supplied, reaching for another Krispy Kreme.

  "Oh yeah."

  "This isn't the first time he's been a no-show," Kit reminded.

  No, it wasn't. So far this month, Jean-Claude had come in late twice and hadn't bothered to show at all three times. Four if you counted today.

  Not a good track record. Especially considering we were only two weeks into July.

  Any sane boss would fire him.

  Unfortunately, I'd come to recognize in my twenty-nine years that I leaned to the right side of normal.

  "No one knows what he's up to?" I asked, looking for some explanation. "Marty?"

  "Me?" he mumbled over a mouth full of glazed doughnut.

  The phone rang in the front room, and I heard Tam answer it. Maybe it was Jean-Claude? Calling in? With a doozy of an excuse?

  Because if he didn't have a doozy of an excuse, I really would have to fire him.

  Sooner or later.

  Sooner probably if Kit's glare was any indication.

  Inwardly I groaned. I hated firing people.

  Tam stuck her head in the door. "Nina?"

  I looked up, hopeful. "Is that Jean-Claude?"

  She shook her head, her tight curls not budging. "No. It's Lindsey Lockhart. She said she's running late and won't be able to make it until ten. Is that okay?"

  My hands immediately turned damp. "Yeah. That's fine. We're running behind here anyway."

  "Okay." She turned slowly and walked away, her belly leading. Tam was due in five weeks, and I didn't know what
I was going to do without her while she was on maternity leave.

  I thought back to my newest commandment and wondered if I should hire a temp through a reputable agency. Only that might ruffle Ana's feathers. My cousin Ana Bertoli was a probation officer who sent me her probationers when someone had trouble finding a job or if I needed a new hire.

  Ana would live if I hired a temp. I'd live too.

  Probably. Hopefully.

  "Jean-Claude," Kit reminded me when I looked down at my file.

  Deanna twirled her pencil baton. "I can take over his workload for tomorrow's makeover."

  "I can pitch in too," Marty chimed in, picking doughnut crumbs from the napkin in front of him with dark fingers.

  "Me too," Coby offered.

  I looked at Kit. "It's a given," he said.

  And it was. I could count on Kit for anything. That's why I had to be careful with this newest commandment. I had hired a lot of great people over the years, criminal records and all.

  I still lumped Jean-Claude into that group. For now. Until a month ago he'd been a model employee. Sure, he had his dark side, but as long as I didn't ask, he didn't tell. It hadn't affected his work, and that's all I truly cared about.

  I was lying.

  I tended to do that, which was why I hadn't made it a commandment yet. I knew I couldn't keep it.

  I cared about more than Jean-Claude's work—I cared about him. Add that to my worrier nature and I knew I was in trouble. What was going on with him?

  "Why is Mrs. Lockhart coming here? Don't you usually meet clients at their homes, or rather their yards, for the final walk-through?" Deanna asked, tossing her pencil up in the air.

  That pencil was seriously getting on my nerves.

  "Usually, yes, but she requested the meeting here. I didn't see why not." It was just as well. Being here in comfortable surroundings might make it easier for me to quiz the woman.

  She held the answers to some burning questions I had.

  "Could be her husband was going to be home."

  Kit had a point. Surprise garden makeovers (surprise being the key word) were the objective of Taken by Surprise.

  "Let's not dwell on it," I said. "Jean-Claude was in charge of the tree and shrub selection for this project, as well as accessories."

  Deanna balanced the pencil on the tip of her index finger. "I think he said something about an old wishing well he'd found."

  "I saw it out in the shed," Marty said.

  Oooh. A wishing well would be a perfect complement to this project. The older and more rustic-looking, the better.

  See, this was why I hated to lose Jean-Claude.

  He'd better have a damn good excuse.

  After checking my list, I turned to Deanna. "Azaleas, rhododendrons, hydrangeas, right?"

  "Right. To go with your blue and white theme, I picked up some bellflowers, belladonna delphiniums, blue balloon flowers, blue chip campanula, and butterfly blue scabiosa, white dragonflower, white bleeding heart, and Deutschland astilbe," she said, actually using the pencil to tick off the list on the pad of paper in front of her.

  "Sounds great."

  "Stanley checked in this morning. The deck is on schedule," Kit said.

  "And you'll be helping him with that, right?"

  "That and the seating once the excavating work is done."

  "Coby? What're you doing?"

  "Fire pit and lighting."

  That's right. "Got everything?"

  "Yes."

  "Kit, have you checked in with Ignacio? Is he all set?"

  Ignacio Martinez was a floater. He and his crew of workers drifted between different jobs, working where there was money to be had. Sometimes they did landscaping, other times bricklaying or general construction. I hired Ignacio and his crew for particularly tough yards. They were worth every cent I paid them under the table.

  I scanned my notes. "The sod and topsoil will be arriving at seven a.m." I checked off bullet points in my head. "All right. I think we're done here. The excavation work is going to be—"

  "Painful?" Deanna cut in.

  That worked. The Lockhart yard was one of the most overgrown, weed-infested yards I'd ever seen. And I'd seen a lot of yards. I'd have turned the project down flat if I hadn't had ulterior motives for doing it. "Definitely. But once that's done, it should be clear sailing."

  "You did it again," Tam called out from the reception area.

  Aha! I'd known she was eavesdropping.

  I peeked at her through the open door. She shook her finger at me.

  "Is 'clear sailing' a cliché?" I asked.

  Five heads bobbed.

  I had picked up the worst habit of sounding like my mother, using abridged clichés and trite expressions. Except lately I'd noticed she'd been using them less and less, and I'd been using them more and more. "Hey! It wasn't abbreviated, though! That's something."

  "It's hard to abbreviate a two-word cliché," Tam said, jotting something down. I imagined she had a notebook filled with my grammar transgressions.

  Hmmph.

  The small set of chimes attached to the front door rang out. The door used to have a cowbell, but the clanging had apparently gotten on Tam's nerves because I came in one day to find the bell flatter than a pan— I caught myself and stopped.

  It was flat.

  And there'd been a baseball bat nearby, namely in Tam's hands. I hadn't asked questions. The next day the chimes were on the door.

  Heads craned to look out the conference room door to see who'd come in. Four sets of eyes then turned to me when Jean-Claude stumbled into the office.

  "What?" I said to them.

  "You need to take care of this." Kit rose.

  I looked up, up, up at him. "I will."

  He arched an eyebrow, and I noticed that he didn't look nearly as scary with a fuzzy head. It was hard to look scary with baby chicken hair.

  I wondered if he knew that.

  Didn't think I should be the one to tell him.

  Jean-Claude froze when he spotted us. I think he spotted us, at least. Hard to say when he wore pitch-black Ray-Bans.

  Everyone remaining at the table stood and scattered, leaving me to deal with Jean-Claude in private. "Come on in," I said to him.

  "Was the meeting at eight? Thought it was at nine."

  "Seeing as how it's almost ten, that's beside the point."

  "You're mad."

  I was. "Sit."

  He slumped in Deanna's vacated chair, looking like Riley, my fifteen-year-old stepson, when he was in a mood.

  In the reflection of his sunglasses I could see anger had darkened my already muddy green eyes. I noticed I needed a haircut too, my hair hanging past my shoulders. In my head it was easy to hear my sister Maria's voice telling me to go blonde like she was, but I was happy to be a brunette. For now.

  I picked at the edge of a paper, folding it back and forth until it ripped. "What's going on?"

  Taking off his sunglasses, he looked at me. I held back a gasp but could feel my eyes go wide, my anger dissipating into worry. Dark circles rimmed his eyes and streaks of red marred the white part around his dark pupils. "Overslept."

  "You've been doing that a lot lately."

  "I know. Sorry."

  I jumped right in. "I think maybe it's time you found another job, Jean-Claude. Something nocturnal maybe."

  His eyes grew wide, looking more bloodshot than before. "What?"

  "I really can't have you working here anymore. Actually, you haven't been working much at all. The others have been covering for you for too long. And it's dangerous to have you working when you're so tired all the time. Some of the equipment—"

  "Nina, please, you can't fire me."

  My stomach hurt. "I really don't have a choice."

  "I need the money," he said, leaning forward, over the table.

  "I need you to work for the money."

  "I will. Just give me another chance."

  "Jean-Claude, this is about your hundred
th chance."

  "Please, Nina."

  This all went back to me being a sucker for a sob story. I hated turning down someone in need. "Why do you need the money so badly?"