Free Weeding Out Trouble by Heather Webber Page B

going?"
    I explained about Kent Ingless.
    "How are we going to lose the fuzz?" She motioned to the curb. Lewy and Joe sat in a dark Taurus.
    Wonderful.
    "Fuzz?" I asked. "Really?"
    "Are you one to question my word choices?"
    She had a point. I followed her to Mr. Cabrera's house, and true to my word, I checked on Gregory Peck. He seemed to be doing well, having taken over the garage for his roost.
    "Where's Mr. Cabrera?"
    "Ach. Walked himself to the hardware store. He's intent on catching those turkeys."
    I smiled. When Mr. Cabrera had his mind set on something, he usually went at it gung ho.
    Brickhouse pulled on a rainbow-colored knit cap. "What's our plan of escape?"
    It was scary how much enjoyment she was getting out of this. I swore I caught her humming the theme song to Mis sion Impossible while filling a bowl of water for BeBe.
    "Leave BeBe here, mosey over to Miss Maisie's to make sure she's okay after the rooster debacle yesterday, then sneak out her back door to meet up with Perry." I checked my watch. "We have ten minutes."
    My phone chirped. Bobby.
    "Were you and BeBe playing Iditarod?" he asked.
    I looked out Mr. Cabrera's front window and could see Bobby standing in his window, phone in one hand, coffee cup in the other. "Very funny. Where's your shirt?"
    "Just got out of the shower."
    My mouth went dry.
    Softly, he said, "I left the lights on for you last night."
    Damn those boundaries. "Will they be on again tonight?"
    "Probably."
    I was glad to hear it. I saw him take a sip of coffee, wince. "You should really blow on that first. Dinner tonight?" I asked.
    He laughed. "Sure, I should be home by then. I'm headed down to Mac's place—promised I'd watch the Bengals game with him."
    "Okay."
    "Dare I ask what you're doing today? I assume it will have something to do with outwitting the two detectives in front of your house."
    "Something like that."
    "The less I know, the better?"
    I smiled. "Definitely."
    I hung up, and Brickhouse and I headed toward Miss Maisie's.
    She seemed surprised to see us, and even more surprised when we said hello, asked how she was, and wondered aloud if we could leave through her back door.
    She showed us out, but not before checking to see if there were any stray fowl running around outside.
    We picked our way through the deep snow, cutting through Mrs. Greeble's backyard.
    As we neared the back of the house, something caught my eye. I crept up to the window and looked in.
    "Nina!" Brickhouse whispered loudly. "What are you doing? Time is of the essence, child."
    I stood there, unable to believe what I was seeing.
    "What has you so captivated?" She came up behind me. "Ah." She clucked. "Oh."
    I couldn't have said it better.
    Right there in Mrs. Greeble's back room was a large poker table.
    Now I knew why Riley had been spending so much time with her.

Nine

    As Brickhouse and I trudged through the snow, all I could think about was Riley. How he'd fooled me once again. And my first evil thought was like father, like son, but as soon as I thought it, I was ashamed. It wasn't fair to lump Kevin's sins on Riley.
    I stomped along, feeling petulant. I had believed I'd come a long way in parenting a teen. I'd picked up tricks to spot lies, tips to weasel information.
    I'd been blindsided by this, thinking, believing, that Riley was helping Mrs. Greeble. That he was earning his money. Not winning it.
    And don't get me started on Mrs. Greeble. She'd seemed so nice, yet if she was running a poker game out of her house, she had to have a dark side.
    Now I felt the obligation to figure out how dark.
    Just one more thing for me to worry about.
    "You look like your head is about to pop off. It's not attractive, Nina Ceceri." Brickhouse glanced back at me as she held a branch so it wouldn't thwap me in the face. "Perhaps all is not what it seems."
    I arched an eyebrow, my BS meter working on overdrive.
    "On occasion," she clucked, "I am wrong. It's rare, occurring about as often as a harvest moon,