Read Online A Hoe Lot of Trouble by Heather Webber - Free Book Online
Authors: Heather Webber
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over your head. What happened with Jumper this morning proves it."
"No offense, Nina, but it's private."
Bridget flashed me an I-told-you-so look, then slowly wobbled to her feet. "I'm going to head out now and let the two of you hash this out."
Bridget promised she'd check in with me soon, despite having to prepare for an upcoming trial, and gave me her business card with all her numbers on it. She mentioned something about dinner Friday night with her and Tim as she kissed my cheek, then Mrs. Sandowski's. Teetering toward the door, she said over her shoulder, "Don't say I didn't warn you."
A moment later, the front door opened then closed and an engine sputtered to life.
Mrs. Sandowski continued to shuck corn.
Now, sitting here, just the two of us, I felt a hundred times a fool. What to do? What to say? Had I really volunteered to become embroiled in this mess? Unfortunately, it seemed as though I was already too involved to back out, that I didn't have a choice in the matter, even if I wanted to.
I leaned forward, propping my elbows on the table. "You have to trust someone, sometime, Mrs. Sandowski. Why not me? I have connections through my husband."
"Ah, yes. Detective Quinn." She said this as though she had some serious doubts about Kevin's character. Not that I blamed her. I now had serious doubts about his character too.
Grabbing an ear of corn, I ripped it open. "My point is I have access to certain information. And I can use my business as a cover while asking around about this land, and who's most interested in it. But most of all, you know me. I'd never do anything to hurt this family. I hate what's happening to all of you. And I hate that nothing's been done about it."
Lines creased her forehead as her brows dipped. "You're serious?"
I set my shucked ear with the others in a bowl near the edge of the table. "Completely."
She sighed heavily. "I don't know what you can do to help, Nina."
Corn silk clung to the table. "I'm not sure, either, but it's better than nothing being done at all, right?"
"Perhaps."
Feeling as though I'd just stumbled, flailing, over one hurdle, I pressed on, hoping to keep her talking. "When did all this start?"
Mrs. Sandowski rubbed her hands together. They were dark from the sun and dotted with liver spots. "I'd say three, four months ago. That's when we were approached by a developer about selling our land."
"Which developer?"
She picked at the strands of yellow corn silk left behind by the shucking and now covering the table. "Demming. John Demming."
Demming was a popular builder. His billboards dotted Freedom's landscape, and I thought I recalled seeing ads for his homes on TV.
"He offered us three million dollars for our house and land. Joe and I said no." Her voice cracked when she said her husband's name.
I picked another ear of corn from the pile. Softly, I said, "May I ask why?"
She shrugged, a delicate movement that said volumes. "This house was built by Timmy's great-great grandfather. I've lived here near all my life, since I married Joe at sixteen. Timmy was born in the upstairs bedroom. It's our home . I know it's not much to look at, but it's ours. The memories are here."
I could understand her reluctance, but three million dollars? "What happened then?"
"A few days after Demming's offer, the congressman came."
"Chanson?"
"Yes. He's a charming man, easy on the eyes, if you know what I mean, but he's arrogant."
I liked arrogant in a man. I've chalked it up to genetic defect and written it off as something I could never change. An arrogant man had confidence, was sure of himself, secure. He wasn't a pushover, and I'm sure Chanson tried every which way to get Mrs. Sandowski to sell.
"Pushy?" I'd seen Chanson on TV and he played the role of politician perfectly. Smooth, suave, amiable to a fault. He had to have some flaw, somewhere. But was he capable of murder?
"Not overly."
Well, there blew that theory.
"He has a way about him that makes you want to
"No offense, Nina, but it's private."
Bridget flashed me an I-told-you-so look, then slowly wobbled to her feet. "I'm going to head out now and let the two of you hash this out."
Bridget promised she'd check in with me soon, despite having to prepare for an upcoming trial, and gave me her business card with all her numbers on it. She mentioned something about dinner Friday night with her and Tim as she kissed my cheek, then Mrs. Sandowski's. Teetering toward the door, she said over her shoulder, "Don't say I didn't warn you."
A moment later, the front door opened then closed and an engine sputtered to life.
Mrs. Sandowski continued to shuck corn.
Now, sitting here, just the two of us, I felt a hundred times a fool. What to do? What to say? Had I really volunteered to become embroiled in this mess? Unfortunately, it seemed as though I was already too involved to back out, that I didn't have a choice in the matter, even if I wanted to.
I leaned forward, propping my elbows on the table. "You have to trust someone, sometime, Mrs. Sandowski. Why not me? I have connections through my husband."
"Ah, yes. Detective Quinn." She said this as though she had some serious doubts about Kevin's character. Not that I blamed her. I now had serious doubts about his character too.
Grabbing an ear of corn, I ripped it open. "My point is I have access to certain information. And I can use my business as a cover while asking around about this land, and who's most interested in it. But most of all, you know me. I'd never do anything to hurt this family. I hate what's happening to all of you. And I hate that nothing's been done about it."
Lines creased her forehead as her brows dipped. "You're serious?"
I set my shucked ear with the others in a bowl near the edge of the table. "Completely."
She sighed heavily. "I don't know what you can do to help, Nina."
Corn silk clung to the table. "I'm not sure, either, but it's better than nothing being done at all, right?"
"Perhaps."
Feeling as though I'd just stumbled, flailing, over one hurdle, I pressed on, hoping to keep her talking. "When did all this start?"
Mrs. Sandowski rubbed her hands together. They were dark from the sun and dotted with liver spots. "I'd say three, four months ago. That's when we were approached by a developer about selling our land."
"Which developer?"
She picked at the strands of yellow corn silk left behind by the shucking and now covering the table. "Demming. John Demming."
Demming was a popular builder. His billboards dotted Freedom's landscape, and I thought I recalled seeing ads for his homes on TV.
"He offered us three million dollars for our house and land. Joe and I said no." Her voice cracked when she said her husband's name.
I picked another ear of corn from the pile. Softly, I said, "May I ask why?"
She shrugged, a delicate movement that said volumes. "This house was built by Timmy's great-great grandfather. I've lived here near all my life, since I married Joe at sixteen. Timmy was born in the upstairs bedroom. It's our home . I know it's not much to look at, but it's ours. The memories are here."
I could understand her reluctance, but three million dollars? "What happened then?"
"A few days after Demming's offer, the congressman came."
"Chanson?"
"Yes. He's a charming man, easy on the eyes, if you know what I mean, but he's arrogant."
I liked arrogant in a man. I've chalked it up to genetic defect and written it off as something I could never change. An arrogant man had confidence, was sure of himself, secure. He wasn't a pushover, and I'm sure Chanson tried every which way to get Mrs. Sandowski to sell.
"Pushy?" I'd seen Chanson on TV and he played the role of politician perfectly. Smooth, suave, amiable to a fault. He had to have some flaw, somewhere. But was he capable of murder?
"Not overly."
Well, there blew that theory.
"He has a way about him that makes you want to
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