Executive Dirt: A Sedona O'Hala Mystery by Maria Schneider Page B

According to the pattern, that part should have the mystery binding sewn across it and then made into the ties, but I’d already affixed ties.
    The serger was every bit as noisy as before.  It was possibly faster.  It cut straight through one of the ties I had just sewn on.
    I checked the pattern and instructions again. Apparently the top was supposed to be done before adding the ties.  And the instructions didn’t say anything about correcting for ties that might have gotten cut off.
    The thing now had one tie, was crooked, uneven and ugly. “Maybe I better start over. Then again, Samantha is too young to know the difference between a washcloth with a string and a bib.  Hey, maybe this is one of those things you tie to the high chair and use to wipe her mouth.  Yeah.  I’m an inventor.  No ordinary bibs for this family.”  Not at the rate I was sewing anyway.
    The doorbell rang, providing a reprieve, at least until I discovered it was Huntington and not Mark or Radar.
    “What?” I asked.
    His eyes narrowed.  “Mark said I owed you some replacement plants because you lost some kind of heirloom blueberries working on the case.  I don’t see how that is possible since you haven’t even attended a single garden club meeting yet.”
    “Mark is correct. But more important than blueberries, I need surveillance equipment.  You have access to the good stuff that works at night, right?” 
    “At night?  What are you up to, and what makes you think I can provide that kind of thing?”
    I rolled my eyes.  Not only had I caught Mark installing cameras during one of our cases, both brothers did investigative work at the highest levels.  “You run a company that involves high-tech companies.  Are you telling me you don’t have the latest and greatest espionage equipment?”
    “Are you crazy?” he asked. “Of course you are.”  Another thought occurred to him.  “Who do you want watched?”
    “I want it installed in my backyard.”
    His eyes flicked to the back door before he strode over. “You think someone is planning to bury another dead body there?  I did order you more dirt from the same place your dad ordered from.”  He stepped outside.  “I don’t think you have to worry about this happening again.”
    I just glared at him.  He sighed. “You’re in more danger of a squirrel digging up your plants than another dead body finding its way here. There is no way you need state of the art equipment to catch a squirrel digging up a tomato plant.”
    “A squirrel did not put Cary in that garden bed.”  I pointed out.
    “I am not wasting my time or equipment on—can’t you just set an alarm every hour, run outside and check on the garden until you get over your unreasonable fear that people intend to make this a cemetery?”
    Leave it to Huntington to decide my sleep was unimportant. “No. This gardening thing was your idea, you know.”
    He snorted. “Fine.  I’ll install some equipment. But we are not even.”
    I agreed heartily.  “Damn straight.  You owe me way more than this.”
    His eyes narrowed, but I didn’t drop my gaze.  He finally asked,  “Do you know the names of the blueberry plants?”
    “I’ll text them to you.  The detectives took all four plants. Two of them were Sunshine Blue, but I don’t know the other two.  I’ll ask Dad.”
    Huntington snagged two cookies when he stepped back into the kitchen.
    “Were smartwatches part of the contraband you think Joe was stealing?” I asked.
    “What makes you ask that?”
    I was just about to tell him about the watch when the doorbell rang. It was Radar and Mark.  Their timely appearance meant I only had to tell my story once.
    “This is an odd looking watch,” Radar declared after a quick inspection. “Yet it runs high-end code.  It has Pig Latin on it?”
    “Just like the Borgot phones, but Borgot isn’t producing a smartwatch to run with its phones.”
    “Joe couldn’t have loaded all the Borgot code