Trouble Under the Tree (A Nina Quinn Mystery) by Heather Webber Page B

dangling snowflakes, and icicles.
Several light-up snowmen and painted ornaments were staked in my
front yard. My mother’s pawned-off snow globe was in my side yard
but not currently inflated. It was a Christmas wonderland, and I
loved it.
    Bracing myself for the cold, I shouldered
open the truck door and trudged through the blowing snow and
ankle-high drifts. I skirted the house to go in the side door and
noticed that the Snoopy snow globe would have to be dug out if I
wanted to use it tonight.
    I pushed open the door leading into the
mud-slash-laundry room, and immediately a yip ping, yap ping ruckus started.
    A tiny black ratlike creature barreled toward
me, skidded on the linoleum, and knocked into my legs. As it
continued its noisy welcome, I kicked off my boots and shrugged out
of my coat. Bending over, I picked it up the black blob. “Hi,
Gracie.”
    My sister Maria’s Chihuahua snarled at me. We
had a history, Gracie and I. A War of the Roses (movie
version) kind of history.
    I petted her head, and she piddled on my
arm.
    Ah, hell. What was one more kind of wetness
today?
    I set her down, held my arm out to the side,
and looked around. Where there was Gracie, there was usually Maria.
“Hello?” I called out as I entered the empty kitchen.
    “In here!” Riley shouted from the living
room.
    As I walked under the arch into the living
room, I nearly had myself a heart attack at the sight before
me.
    “Don’t you dare say a word,” Riley
warned.
    I burst out laughing. “You’re kidding, right?
I’m on Candid Camera .” I glanced around for any kind of
hidden camera—including one lurking in an innocuous exit sign.
    “Be nice, Nina,” Maria chided. To Riley, she
said, “Watch, Ry. Knit, knit, purl.” Metal knitting needles clicked
happily together.
    The two of them sat side by side on the sofa,
knitting.
    Knitting!
    Well, Maria was knitting. Riley was holding
the ball of yarn. A big carpetbag sat on the floor. It was filled
with dozens of skeins of varying colors.
    Riley glanced up at me with big “help me”
eyes.
    “What are you both doing here?” I asked.
    Riley said, “The street to Dad’s was blocked
off because of a big accident, so a buddy dropped me off here. Dad
said he’d pick me up later.”
    “And you?” I asked Maria.
    She primly set her knitting down. “I came by
to drop off a few things. Look, I made you a scarf!” Rummaging in
her Mary Poppins’ bag, she came up with a folded purple scarf. But
as she reached out to give it to me, she suddenly pulled it back.
“Why are you holding your arm out like that? And why is it
wet?”
    Riley sniffed. “Is that dog pee I smell?”
    They gaped at me.
    “Hey,” I said, “it was Gracie’s fault.”
    We all looked down at her, this half-deaf and
mostly-blind dog. She was sniffing around the Christmas tree and
making chortling sounds as though she was about to hack up a
hairball. Maria called those noises “normal” for a Chihuahua.
    There was a reason I didn’t have a dog of my
own.
    “Well,” Maria said, “I made this scarf for
you.” She shook it out, and it unfurled like a roll of toilet paper
on the loose. It kept going and going. The scarf had to be six feet
long, and was full of quarter-sized holes—slipped stitches. “Isn’t
it beautiful? You always look so pretty in purple. Not that you
wear much of it.”
    My sister looked a lot like a young Grace
Kelly and often behaved like a spoiled socialite. Despite our (very
many) differences, she was my baby sister, and I (obviously) had a
high level of tolerance.
    But as much as I wanted to crack a joke at
the state of that pitiful scarf, I couldn’t. The pride in her eyes
had me saying, “It’s very nice.”
    She beamed, a magnificent smile.
    Riley jumped up and headed for the door. “I’m
going to shovel the front walk.”
    Which was probably pointless with the way the
snow was coming down, but I recognized the opportunity to escape
when I saw it. “Put on a hat!” He