Death, Taxes, and Sweet Potato Fries by Diane Kelly

Author:Diane Kelly
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

chapter eighteen

Talk Is Cheap. Lawyers Aren’t.

As I left the mobile home park with the stuffed dog riding in my passenger seat, the song “Where, Oh Where Has My Little Dog Gone?” played through my mind. Poor little boy. He was probably singing that song himself. Or a Spanish equivalent of it.

With Eddie trailing along behind me, I headed directly for the job site in Frisco where Brett’s men were working. After weaving our way through traffic, we pulled into the new development. Ahead were a lineup of new, green heavy-duty pickups with king cabs and attached flatbed trailers. Lettering on the doors identified the vehicles as part of the Ellington Nurseries fleet. The lettering matched that on the sign at the nursery, including the Is dotted with daisies. Those trucks didn’t come cheap. Looked like Brett’s business was doing well. Good for him. He’d need to earn a pretty penny to send little Spencer or Evan to college. At the rate tuition was increasing, it would probably cost a million dollars by the time the kid was ready to go. I hoped my own Hank or Waylon or Reba or Dolly would land a scholarship.

I pulled to a stop behind the trucks and looked out at the site. The crew wore green uniforms that also bore the logo for Brett’s business, as well as matching lightweight hats with flaps along the back designed to keep the sun off the wearer’s neck. The group performed various tasks. Two men carried PVC pipes from the trailer to the lawn and began laying them out in a pattern for the lawn sprinkler systems. Another used a shovel to dig holes along the side of the house for the red-tip photinia bushes lined up behind him. A fourth lined a flower bed with decorative stone. I surmised the four must be the men going by Julio Guzmán, Pablo Perez, Miguel Gallegos, and Diego Robles. I wasn’t sure who was who, or what their actual names were, but I hoped at least one of them could speak English. Growing up in east Texas, not far from the Louisiana border, I’d opted to take French in high school. In retrospect, Spanish might have been the more useful option. It’s not like I got down to New Orleans very often.

I climbed out of my car and stopped at the curb so as not to interfere with their work.

Eddie stepped up beside me and pointed to the sign in the yard. “Ellington Nurseries. Why does that name sound familiar?”

“Because it’s Brett’s business.”

“Brett? You mean that guy you dated before Nick?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie chortled. “Well, isn’t this interesting. I wonder what Nick would think if he knew you were out here cavorting with your old flame.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m hardly cavorting with my old flame. Brett’s not even going to be here today.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie arched a suspicious bow. “And how, exactly, do you know that?”

Because he’d told me so yesterday when we parted ways at a hotel. But I couldn’t very well say that, could I? I tried to play nonchalant.

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