Pinned for Murder (4 page)

“I got a lovely scarf and hat from a library patron when I was pushed out of my job,” Dixie muttered as she shuffled her way across the hearth room to claim the empty spot beside Debbie.

Lifting her magazine from its resting place, Leona buried her face in its contents once again, a faint snort rising up from behind the glossy pages.

“
Must we
, Dixie?” Margaret Louise asked as she, too, pulled a project from her sewing box—a tiny lace-edged bib for her youngest grandbaby. “You had talked about retirin’ for months. It just happened a dab sooner than you’d planned. Besides, that was over six months ago.”

“Six months I’d still have been working if the board hadn’t hired Victoria behind my back.”

“Do you like the children’s room she created in the library, Dixie?” Georgina asked with an air of boredom to her voice.

“Yes, of course. But—”

“Do you like the book delivery she set up with the retirement home in town?” Debbie caught Tori’s eye and winked.

“Of course, but—”

“Did Victoria make you lead storyteller for the preschool crowd?” Beatrice chimed in quietly.

“Yes, but—”

“Then quit your blathering.”

Dixie shot Georgina a dirty look. “Blathering?”

“Don’t worry, it’s good for your soul . . . isn’t it, Beatrice?” Margaret Louise smiled triumphantly. “Besides, by being retired you no longer have to answer to a board.”

“Amen,” Dixie mumbled before shrugging her sweater-clad shoulders in Tori’s direction. “How’d we fare with the storm, anyway?”

Six months ago, the use of the word
we
when referring to the library would have been a sign of her predecessor’s continued bitterness and never-ending territorial claim on Tori’s place of employment. But now, after rubbing elbows in their weekly circle meetings, she saw it more as a shared passion for books that inevitably placed them on the same team. A team Dixie was protesting less and less as the days wore on.

Pulling the fleece fabric to her chest she closed her eyes, breathed in the memory of the empty shelves she’d left behind in favor of a few hours of sewing-induced sanity. “We lost everything on the bottom row of shelves . . . but it could have been worse.”

Margaret Louise nodded her agreement. “When I showed up at the library this mornin’ to help, I was expectin’ things to be worse. But other than the books Victoria just mentioned, everything else will be good as new in no time. You mark my words.”

Dixie released an audible sigh Tori not only understood but shared as well. “There’s no doubt we were lucky. Especially considering the age of the building.

“In fact, from what I’ve been hearing all day long, the library got off lucky in the grand scheme of things. Some of the other older buildings in town didn’t fare quite so well, isn’t that right, Georgina?”

“I believe Rose can answer that better than anyone else.” The mayor gestured toward Rose, the elderly woman’s tired form reminding Tori of her evening’s mission.

“Rose? Would you like to stay with me for a while? I have plenty of room . . . not to mention electricity,” Tori said, her voice stopping just shy of pleading.

“Candles worked for my great-grandparents, candles will work for me.” The retired schoolteacher’s chin jutted forward with an air of resolution. “Besides, Kenny is right next door at Martha Jane’s if I need anything.”

“Kenny might not be able to handle the kinds of problems that come from storm damage like we’ve seen,” Georgina cautioned gently, the hesitancy in her voice as much a reflection of her respect for Rose as it was anything else. “You know he can get a little unsettled when he feels trapped or unsure of himself.”

“I know no such thing,” Rose hissed as she pulled the flaps of her sweater more tightly against her body. “Need I remind you that book smarts don’t always translate to life smarts?”

Tori watched her friend closely, the stress of the storm emphasizing the tremor in the woman’s pale and bony hand. While she understood Georgina’s overriding concern for Rose, she also couldn’t discount the one thing she’d come to know about the group’s matriarch.

Rose Winters valued her independence and believed in the power of loyalty—characteristics that were not only honorable but worthy of celebration as well.

“Could I stay with you, then?” Tori asked. “That way we could fix minor things while we’re waiting for Kenny to finish up at your neighbor’s house.”

Large charcoal-colored eyes—magnified behind bifocals—turned to study her, a fleeting look of moisture the only evidence her offer had been heard. She continued on, enthusiasm for her off-the-cuff idea mounting with each word. “We could get things back in order around your home and I could pick your brain on ways to reach our school-aged patrons—the ones who are a little too big for the children’s room but not necessarily ready for the adult section—”

“Excuse me, ladies, but there’s a call for you, Georgina.” Debbie’s husband poked his head around the corner, a phone in his outstretched left hand. “It’s Chief Dallas. Said it’s important.”

“Thank you, Colby.” Excusing herself to the hallway, Georgina hurried out of the room, the phone held close to her ear as pockets of conversation resumed around the circle.

Tori considered prodding Rose for an answer but, in the end, opted to let the sewing work its magic on the elderly lady before approaching the subject once again. Sometimes patience and decorum were the best course of action. Instead, she asked for specifics about some of the damage her house had sustained, the woman’s description bringing a renewed catch to her throat and a worry to her heart.

As if sensing her feelings, Rose met her eye with a shaky smile. “Don’t you worry about me, Victoria. Kenny is a marvel. He looks after me almost as he would his mamma.”

“You’ve been good to him, too, Rose,” Debbie said as she crossed her feet at the ankles before digging her hand into her sewing box and extracting three spools of varying shades of pink thread. “You’ve been his biggest champion, encouraging people to give him a shot in life.”

Rose waved off their hostess’s praise. “Too often people in this world equate everything with education. Even decency. As if being a compassionate human being is something taught in a book rather than the world at large. But regardless of his challenges in school as a young boy, Kenny has always been kind, hardworking, and honest to a—”

“I’m sorry for the interruption, but that couldn’t be helped.” Georgina strode back into the room, her now empty hand held tightly in a fist. Reclaiming her spot beside the fireplace, the mayor closed her eyes and rested her head against the seat back.

“Is everything okay, Georgina?” Debbie asked, voicing the inquiry mirrored on the faces of those around them.

Slowly, the woman opened her eyes, her gaze skirting the room’s occupants before coming to rest on Rose. “There’s been a robbery.”

“A robbery?” Margaret Louise echoed.

Georgina nodded, her gaze still firmly rooted on Rose’s face. “Martha Jane claims she was robbed in her own home.”

“Good heavens, is she okay?”

“She’s fine, Dixie. But she’s fit to be tied and ready to press charges.
Now
.”

“She knows who did it?” Tori asked.

“Yes.” Georgina broke eye contact with Rose long enough to send a meaningful glance in Tori’s direction. “She does.”

“Who?” Rose stammered, her voice cracking under the stress of the day. “Who was it?”

“Kenny. Kenny Murdock.”

Chapter 3

If she didn’t know any better, she’d actually think Roger had a split personality. Persona A had been relatively tame, showing a hint of manners despite a propensity to make a mess. Persona B, on the other hand, had been nothing short of tyrannical, subjecting his victims to a host of ill-tempered behavior with absolutely no regard to the plight of the elderly or anyone else.

Standing in the center of Rose’s prized sewing room, it was no secret which personality had come knocking on the elderly woman’s front door. And like most unwelcome guests, he’d stayed entirely too long.

“Oh, Milo, I had no idea,” Tori gasped from behind her hand as she surveyed the damage to her friend’s home. “I mean, I knew she’d suffered more damage than we did at the library, but
this
? It’s . . . it’s insane.”

The third-grade teacher, who was single-handedly restoring her faith in the opposite sex, slid his arm around her waist as he, too, took stock of their surroundings. “It’s bad, there’s no doubt about that. But it’s fixable, Tori. And what’s
not
fixable is replaceable from what I can see.”

She willed herself to take a deep breath, to get her emotions under control, but it was hard. For years she’d seen televised images of damage sustained from storms, their impact dulled by the absence of a shared reality. But standing there, witnessing the fallout in person, was overwhelming if not downright disheartening.

“I mean look at this . . .” Tori squatted down in the middle of the room, her hand sweeping across the overturned sewing machine and wooden sewing box that had always reminded her so much of her great-grandmother’s things. “Rose loved this room. She told me she could sit in here for hours sewing away the time.”

“And she will again. I promise.” Milo Wentworth swooped down beside her, turning her face toward his with a gentle hand. “We’ll get that tree all the way down, replace the broken windows, and put everything back where it belongs.”

She encased his hand with her own, the man’s calming presence something she’d come to realize she not only needed but craved as well. Peering up, she studied the amber flecks that softened the darkness of his eyes. “But how, Milo? You work all day long at the school. Then, when the students are gone, you’ve got papers to correct and parent calls to field. And I’m tied up all day at the library. How on earth are we going to get this place in shape anytime soon?”

A slow smile stretched his mouth upward, the motion etching dimples in his cheeks. “I don’t work
all
day, Tori.”

Reaching up, she tousled the longish thatch of burnished brown hair that graced the center of his head. “You’re a sweetheart to even think about coming over here after working with kids all day long . . . but I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not. I’m offering.” Motioning around the room, Milo’s eyes narrowed. “Trust me, I couldn’t sleep any better than you could knowing that Rose is picking around one trip hazard after the other. It’s not safe. For anyone, much less Rose.”

Rose.

It was hard to look around, to see the shattered windowpanes and the overturned knickknacks that seemed to dominate the retired kindergarten teacher’s home. But it had been even harder to see the utter disbelief on the woman’s face when she heard the news about her former pupil.

Lowering her voice to a near whisper, Tori jerked her head in the direction of the closed door halfway down the hall. “You should have seen her face when Georgina said Kenny was being questioned for stealing. She was devastated and angry all at the same time.”

“Rose adores Kenny. Has for as long as I can remember.” Milo straightened up, his six foot one frame making its way across the tiny room to right a lamp that had tipped onto its side. “Celia used to say I’d be the same way one day when my own students are grown and out on their own.”

She cast a sidelong glance in his direction, the mention of his late wife’s name bringing a catch to her heart. Milo had been a widower for ten years, and Tori had never met his wife, a woman he’d been married to for all of about six months before cancer claimed her life. Time had marched on since then, of course, healing hurts and spotlighting new perspectives. But still, she couldn’t help but hesitate when Celia’s name was mentioned.

“Are—are you okay?” she asked, her shoulders bracing for some sort of revelation even she couldn’t identify.

“Of course.” Pulling her in for a hug, he rested his chin on the top of her head, the rumble of his words spreading outward from their point of impact. “We’ve talked about this, Tori. Things happen for a reason whether we understand that at the time or not.”

He was right. When she’d found Jeff in the closet of their engagement hall with his pants down around his ankles, she’d been devastated, his inappropriate shenanigans with a coworker rocking her to the core and propelling her to run as far from Chicago as possible. At the time, she’d thought her life was over. Yet now, in hindsight, she realized Jeff’s betrayal was the catalyst for something better.

Much, much better.

Shaking her thoughts from a path that had absolutely nothing to do with Rose, Tori forced herself to focus on the true topic of their conversation. “All the way here in the car, Rose kept saying the same things over and over again . . . ‘Kenny wouldn’t steal,’ ‘Kenny is a good boy,’ ‘Money holds no meaning for Kenny.’”

“And she believes that from the bottom of her heart.” Milo took Tori’s hand and led her from the sewing room, their feet padding softly past Rose’s bedroom door. When they reached the tiny living room on the front side of the house, he stopped, his voice rising to a near-normal decibel. “I just hope she’s right.”