Pinned for Murder (6 page)

Martha Jane beckoned her down the hall and around a corner, the trek leading them to the back side of the house once again. Only this time, the screens separating the indoors from the outdoors were confined to a standard size window to the left of Martha Jane’s canopied bed. “I keep my money in my top drawer. Have since my husband passed away twenty years ago.”

Tori nodded absentmindedly, her attention thwarted by a wooden jewelry box in the center of the dresser, a beautifully handcrafted dark cherry box that begged to be noticed. She leaned closer only to feel a smack on her arm.

Startled, she met Martha Jane’s defensive gaze. “I’m sorry. I guess your jewelry box caught my eye. It’s exquisite.”

The woman’s stance softened ever so slightly. “My great-grandfather, Matthew Tucker Barker, made that box; his initials are even carved into the bottom. He made that picture frame over there”—she pointed from a framed black-and-white photograph to a dark cherry triangular wood and glass box on the opposite wall—“and that case, too.”

Following the path made by the woman’s outstretched finger, Tori stepped in for a closer look, her reflection disappearing as she focused on the pale blue material inside. “What’s this?” she asked.

“Sweet Briar’s first flag.”

She leaned still closer, studied the trio of images that made up the town’s crest. The flames were easy to understand, the image a reminder of the town’s destruction during the Civil War. The pyramid of three bricks beside it symbolized the town’s subsequent rebirth. But the third picture was one she didn’t understand. Pointing at the image of a white picket fence bathed in sunlight, she peered over her shoulder at Martha Jane. “What does this one mean?”

“Warmth and friendliness.”

“Warmth and friendliness,” she repeated quietly, the words bringing a smile to her lips. “I like that. I like that
a lot
.”

“Hogwash is what it is,” Martha Jane snapped as she folded her arms across her chest. “Except for the pile of bricks. That one, at least, is accurate. Or was for about three weeks . . . before the founders ordered a new one on account of their feeling that six bricks represented strength better than three.”

“The flames are accurate, too. The town
did
burn to the ground.”

“By derelicts.”

Tori bit back the urge to smile. “And the warmth and friendliness part? What’s wrong with that?”

“If Sweet Briar were still warm and friendly, good-for-nothins like Kenny Murdock wouldn’t be robbing me blind.”

Ahhh yes, the reason for this visit . . .

Pulling her gaze from the hand-sewn flag, Tori fixed it on the dresser once again. “Don’t you think your money would have been safer in a bank? Where it’s monitored by people and cameras?”

“I most certainly do not. Why would I want all those strangers handling my money when I could keep it here?”

“Because they’re professionals and that’s what they do?”

“Hogwash!” Yanking the top drawer open, the woman gestured inside. “See? I kept it right here. In the front corner by my socks where it’s been for years.”

“Oh, I see. . . .” Poking her head over the woman’s shoulder, she took stock of a drawer that contained three thin stacks of pristinely folded shirts and sweaters. Confused, she looked back at Martha Jane. “Where are they?”

“
Kenny
took them. I told you that,” the woman hissed.

“He took your socks?” She heard the sarcasm in her voice and rushed to soften its edges. “Why would he do that?”

“Good heavens, child, he didn’t steal my socks. He wasn’t after my socks. He was after my money. The socks are right here.” With a push of one drawer and a firm pull on the one below it, Martha Jane pointed. “See? I switched drawers the other day and—”

A sharp intake of air escaped the woman’s mouth as Tori’s gaze picked through numerous piles of white ankle socks before coming to rest on more money than she’d ever seen in one place at one time.

She felt her mouth gape open. “Is that it? Is that your—”

“My money, my
money
! It’s safe!”

Chapter 4

With a container of fried chicken in one hand and a bowl of fruit salad in the other, Tori stared at Rose’s front door. Had she been thinking, she would have carried the various parts of Doug’s lunch in one at a time, the availability of an empty hand making the entire process a whole lot easier.

But she hadn’t.

And the door was closed.

Sighing, she looked from one full hand to the other, the ability to signal her presence with a knock all but gone. Then again, there was always a knee. . . .

“Afternoon, Tori. Need a hand?”

She set her foot back down on the front stoop, her shoulders slumping in relief as she turned. “A hand would be wonderful, Doug, thanks.”

Doug’s nose lifted into the air as his nostrils flared. “Do I smell chicken?”

Tori laughed. “Good nose.”

He scaled the trio of steps that separated the sidewalk from Rose’s front door with one motion, his sky blue eyes shimmering with the sun’s rays. “I can’t tell you the last time I had fried chicken.” Grabbing the container of chicken from her right hand, he inhaled once again. “Man, it’s been months . . . at least.”

“Good. I slaved over it all morning.”

“Really?”

She knocked on the front door, then turned back to the man standing beside her, her gaze drinking in every detail of his average-sized frame. Twenty-four hours earlier, when she’d first laid eyes on him, she’d found the guy to be rather ordinary, his face fairly nondescript save for the sky blue eyes that seemed to dance in the light. Today, standing less than six inches apart, she could see she’d been mistaken.

Doug Hewitt was anything but ordinary. In fact, if she allowed herself to really
look
, he was downright hot. In a smoldering, sexy, rugged kind of way.

Forcing her gaze back to the door, she shifted from foot to foot, her left arm tightening around the bowl of fruit salad she’d whipped together before leaving for the library that morning.

“Tori? You okay?”

Say something . . . Say something . . .

“Sorry. I blanked there for a minute.”

She knocked again, this time a bit louder in an attempt to drown out the sudden thumping of her heart.

You have Milo, dummy.

He moved the chicken container into the crook of his elbow and reached for the bowl of fruit salad, his tight gray T-shirt pulling all the more taut across his chest. “I guess you were probably affected by the storm, too, huh?”

The storm.

Seizing the opportunity to focus on something other than the way his faded blue jeans hugged his lower half, Tori nodded and then shrugged. “Yes and no.”

“Excuse me?”

She rushed to explain as the click of the door’s interior locking mechanism echoed through the air. “My cottage was fine. It’s one of the newer structures in town so it fared wonderfully. But the library, where I work, suffered some damage. Nothing earth-shattering, but enough to shrink our collection temporarily.”

The door swung open to reveal a Rose who looked much happier than she had the day before. Tori sighed with relief. “Rose, how are you?”

“Fine. Fine,” the elderly woman said as she peered up at Tori and then Doug, her soft gray eyes magnified to nearly twice their size thanks to the wire-rimmed bifocals she wore. “Did you hear the good news?”

“About Kenny?”

Rose nodded. “I told you he didn’t do it.”

“And that was all I needed to hear.” Tori pointed at the containers in Doug’s hand. “I took a chance you might be free for lunch and packed a little extra fried chicken and fruit salad.”

“A little? Looks like you have enough to feed a small army, Victoria.”

She felt her face warm. “Okay, so I made a little more than I realized. Are you hungry?”

Pulling the flaps of her sweater closer to her body, Rose lowered her voice. “My stomach is a bit unsettled this afternoon. But, if you have the time, I would enjoy a little fresh air and some good conversation.”

She studied her friend closely, her radar on alert. “Are you feeling sick?”

Rose waved off Tori’s concern with her usual gruff-ness. “I’m not ready to kick the bucket if that’s what you’re asking, Victoria.”

“I wasn’t saying . . . I mean I . . .” She stopped when she heard Doug’s chuckle of amusement. She made a face. “What?”

“My granddad used to say the same thing. He said he felt as if people were just waitin’ around, holdin’ chunks of dirt.”

“Chunks of dirt?” she asked.

“To sprinkle on my coffin,” Rose groused.

She grabbed the edge of Rose’s screen door for support. “I wasn’t saying you’re going to . . . I mean, I was just concerned about what you said. About your stomach.”

“Stomachs get upset, Victoria. They get upset from food that’s gone bad, they get upset from viruses, they get upset from people who don’t know when to stop. It happens.”

“My mother-in-law gives me agita on a daily basis,” Doug offered from his spot on the front stoop. “It’s part of the reason I chase storms for a living. Gives me a chance to get away, rest my ears a little.”

“See?” Rose wrapped her bony hand around Tori’s upper arm and gently pulled her inside. “Let’s get your food onto plates and then we can sit out back on the patio and catch up. Besides, I’d like you to meet Kenny.” Turning to Doug, she moved the containers to Tori’s hands. “Why don’t you see if that man working next door would like something to eat as well.”

“You mean Curtis?” Tori asked. “I met him last night when I stopped by Martha Jane’s house. He struck me as being kind of quiet, like maybe he’s the type who prefers to keep to himself.”

“He’s probably just learned to keep his mouth shut around the old biddy.”

Tori snorted a laugh. “Old biddy?”

“Martha Jane, who else?” Rose snapped.

Tori closed her eyes as images of the previous evening flitted through her mind. Rose was right. Martha Jane would be a tough person to work for, her attitude bordering on cold and demanding. “You know what? I think that sounds like a great idea.” She looked at Doug. “Would you mind seeing if you can find Curtis? If you do, could you tell him we have some extra lunch if he’s interested?”

“My pleasure.”

She watched his lanky but defined back disappear across Rose’s front lawn, her thoughts taking her to Mississippi and the family he left behind. “Seems like a nice man.”

“He does. But I wish you’d have waited on hirin’ him. Kenny does a fine job with his hands.” Rose led the way down the hallway, her feet moving more slowly than Tori remembered. Was her friend simply tired? Or was it something more?

Setting the food containers on the nearest counter, Tori spun around to face Rose. “Milo and I were worried about you,” she rushed to explain. “The storm did a lot of damage to your place and we didn’t like the idea of you tripping over something and getting hurt. And as far as Kenny is concerned, hiring Doug wasn’t a reflection on his ability. It was simply because we weren’t sure when the whole robbery accusation would get cleared up.”

“Robbery, schmobbery.” Rose stamped her foot on the off-white linoleum floor. “I have a good mind to pay my neighbor a visit and let her know just what I think about her and her accusations.”

Although it was a discussion Tori would enjoy watching, she knew it wasn’t worth the inevitable elevation in Rose’s blood pressure. She said as much to the woman.

“Perhaps you’re right. But you should see how hurt Kenny is by this whole mess. I’ve never seen him so distraught,” Rose said, her voice an unusual mix of despair and anger. “I wish people would stop judging by the exterior, seeing only the differences instead of the things that are the same.”

Tori grabbed a plate from the stack Rose set out and began filling plates—one for Doug, one for Curtis, one for—

“You did say Kenny was here, didn’t you?”

“He’s out back, bundling up brush next to the patio.” Rose shuffled over to the refrigerator. “I made a fresh pitcher of tea this morning so we’ll serve that with dinner.”

“You mean lunch . . .” Tori’s voice trailed off as Rose rolled her eyes skyward. “Sorry. I forgot.”

And she had.

As she always did.

Even with more than six months under her belt, there were still a number of southern expressions that threw her for a loop, much to the chagrin of Leona, her personal coach on all things southern. But she couldn’t help it.
Dinner
was supposed to be served in the evening.

One by one she filled each plate with fried chicken and fruit salad, the strawberries she’d purchased from Leeson’s Market bringing a vivid splash of color to a backdrop of banana slices and star-shaped kiwi. When she’d readied four plates, she looked up at Rose once again. “Are you sure you won’t eat even a little? The fried chicken looks really good. Smells good, too.”

Rose shook her head, the motion one of weariness. “Maybe later. After my visit with Kenny has settled.”

“He’s that upset, huh?” Tori looked around the tiny kitchenette, her gaze skimming across countertops and glass-fronted cabinets in search of the perfect carrying tray. When she found what she was looking for, she began shifting plates from the counter to the portable surface.