Page 17 of Trouble Comes in Threes

Neely Kate, shuffling through a rack of girl’s toddler clothes, looked up and waved before turning back to her searching.

“We’re landscapers,” I continued, “and we’re working at your previous home on Olive Drive.”

Panic filled her eyes. “I told Roger not to pack that sewage pipe with concrete.”

“What?” I asked in confusion, then shook my head. “No. That’s not why we’re here.” Although I made a mental note to tell the Thatchers they might need to have their sewer pipe examined. “Today when we were digging, we found a wooden box buried on the side of the house. We were wondering if you knew anything about it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “A wooden box? What’s in it?”

“It’s locked,” I said, glancing back at Neely Kate, who had pulled a couple of items from the rack and hung the hangers from her other arm. I was surprised she wasn’t front and center asking questions, but maybe the lure of the cute outfits was too strong. I turned back to face Lauren. “It’s about a foot long, about half as wide, and it looks hand carved. At the current homeowner’s request, we’re trying to find out who might have buried it so we can return it to them. I’m guessing you don’t know anything about it.”

She shrugged. “I’ve never seen anything like that, let alone buried it.”

“What about your husband?” I asked. “Could he have buried it?”

Her mouth pinched. “That would require the no-good lazy asshole to actually pick up a shovel.”

“So that’s a no?” Neely Kate called out from the clearance rack.

“That’s definitely a no.”

“I thought your husband covered the sewer line with concrete,” Neely Kate said as she pulled a dress off the rack and examined it.

“As if,” Lauren snorted. “His brother did all the work while Roger sat in a lawn chair in the yard, knocking back his beers.” She shook her head. “Roger ‘supervised.’” She used air quotes.

“Could Roger’s brother have buried the box?”

She shook her head. “No way. There isn’t a sentimental bone in that man’s body.”

“How long did you own the home?” I asked.

“About ten years.”

“Do you have any kids who could have buried it?”

She shook her head. “We never had kids. Roger didn’t want ‘em.”

“A neighbor or a friend?”

“Nope. I guarantee you that no one buried any kind of box in my yard when we lived there. But maybe the couple who lived there before us. I think they were the Elgers.”

“Thank you for your time,” I said.

Neely Kate walked up to the counter with several items of clothing and set them down, holding up two shirts. Soccer was spelled out across the front of each of them in red sequins. “I’m getting these for Ashley and Hope to wear to Mikey’s game. I got one for Daisy too.”

“You don’t need to do that, Neely Kate,” I said, feeling guilty, but I knew Ashley would love it. And Hope would wear hers because it matched Ashley’s.

“Of course I don’t,” she said with a wave of dismissal, “but I can get my nieces things from time to time. And besides, they were on clearance.”

“Well, thank you.”

After she paid far more than I would have for six items, we headed back to the car. Still, I had no judgment. Neely Kate had always cared more about the way she looked than I did, and Ashley was more like her than me. More like Violet. This was a good reminder to pay attention to that. I wondered if I should have searched the clearance rack for something for Ashley. Violet had left some money to the kids, but I’d refused to use any of it for day-to-day purposes. I was saving it for their future college education. Maybe I needed to rethink that.

But not today.

There were only a few cars in the parking lot when we pulled up at the nursery I’d founded with my sister Violet. When Violet had gotten sick, Maeve took over managing the shop, and thankfully had stayed on. Maeve was behind the counter with her laptop open in front of her when we walked in, and her face lit up when she saw us. She was in her sixties but didn’t look it. In fact, I was pretty sure she looked younger than she had when I’d first met her nearly six years ago.

I’d met Maeve through my then-boyfriend Mason Deveraux. She was a widow, and she’d been lonely in Little Rock. She’d moved to Henryetta to be closer to her only living child, but when Mason had moved back to Little Rock three years ago, she’d stayed in Fenton County to run the plant nursery. She’d told me she had more friends here than she had back in Little Rock, so it hadn’t been a hard decision, especially since Mason was a workaholic. Besides, she and I had grown very close. She’d become the mother I’d always wished for, and my kids called her Nana Maeve.

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