Read A Tough Nut to Kill (Nut House Mystery Series) for Free Online

the house with everybody else.”
    “The Nut House is an old building, Mama. Lots of keys around.” I swept on past the old complaint and skipped my patter about needing privacy.
A place of my own
.
    “Look, Lindy. If I were you, I’d just put it down to leaving too fast this morning and messing things up more than usual. You forgot that article, didn’t you? Must’ve been in a hurry.” Miss Emma swiveled her chair around to face her computer screen.
    “I don’t think so—” I began.
    “So how’s Miss Amelia now?” she interrupted, tired and at the edge of her ability to listen to any more.
    Recognizing a dismissal when I heard one, I got up. “I tucked her into bed for a nap. All of this was hard on her.”
    “I’ll be up to the house soon to see about supper. Just got a little longer here with your father’s bills. Then I gotta take a look at something . . . can’t put my finger on it but this last bid from the Butcher Brothers seems way too low. Market shouldn’t be going down on the pecans. If they’re gonna be scarce, market should already be heading up.” She frowned and turned back to her computer. “Where you going now?”
    “Out to my grove. I’m keeping a close eye on those transplants. I’ve got five still in their pots, might need to be brought back into the greenhouse tonight. I’m not sure enough to leave them out . . .”
    “Maybe it’s time you started getting patents on your new stock. I been thinking about it. Some ranchers would look at your work as being worth a lot of money someday. I know . . . I know . . .” She raised her hands to stop my protest. “That’s not what you’re thinking about. I’m just saying, to be on the safe side.”
    I wrinkled my nose at her. “I will, Mama. I’ll look into it. Just let me get something I’m sure of before we start talking protecting the work, okay?”
    “Up to you.” She turned her chair away and then back. “Go on now. Better get out there and check those saplings of yours. Kiss every one of ’em, Lindy.”
    She sighed as she leaned back over Daddy’s ledger book. “If I didn’t still hope for better, I’d say the only grandchildren I’m ever getting out of you will be a bunch of little nut trees.”
    • • •
     
    I drove under rows of our beautiful trees just coming into bud; across acres that had always been my own magic forest. It was my favorite time of year: spring along the Colorado River. As a child I’d loved skipping under the tall trees, listening as they talked to one another when the wind blew, telling myself I could understand them, that they were happy we took care of them, that they loved all the Blanchards—including me.
    My happiest memories were here, when my daddy was alive and running the ranch, when Mama wasn’t so harried with work, Miss Amelia not under attack, and when Uncle Amos hadn’t been a threat—kept under control by my daddy, who swore he’d always see to his brother, no matter how far he fell into drinking. “And,” I muttered to myself, despite Mama’s assurances, “when nobody got into my apartment without me knowing it.”
    I waved to Martin Sanchez, our ranch foreman, as I drove past the barns and through another grove. He was busy mowing the tall grasses. I didn’t stop to talk. The sound of the huge mower echoed through the grove. He’d have to shut off the motor to hear me, and Martin didn’t like being interrupted while he worked.
    I looked around for Justin. Be a good thing to give him a heads-up about Amos coming into the store, but he wasn’t with the other men cleaning out the drainage ditches. With so much needing to be done this time of year, I figured he was somewhere fixing another broken-down machine or repairing fences where the wild hogs were coming in, or maybe he’d run into town for more spray. He could even be in Riverville hunting for spare hands, men who waited to be picked up and carted out into the groves to work.
    I drove my