Pinned for Murder (14 page)

Chapter 11

Tori peered at her reflection in the driver’s side window. Tendrils of light brown hair escaped her ponytail, thanks to the warmer than normal temperatures that had prompted her to open the windows for the short drive to Milo’s house. The effect wasn’t her first choice, but it would do.

Making her way around the car, she stepped onto the sidewalk and headed toward the hammering that punctuated the otherwise quiet day. With the storm and Martha Jane’s murder, the two of them had barely had more than five minutes alone all week—a fact she was eager to change.

The hammering ceased only to be replaced by the rumble of a male voice that didn’t belong to Milo Wentworth.

“So much for being alone,” she murmured as she rounded a moss tree and continued in the direction of the Man Shed behind Milo’s home. The first time he’d shown it to her, he’d pointed out every tool and contraption in its arsenal, painstakingly explaining the purpose of each. When she’d complimented him on his work shed, he’d puffed out his chest and gently corrected her terminology to incorporate the structure’s many uses—which included a spot to play darts and watch football.

Milo spotted her and waved. “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Popping his hammer into his tool belt, he closed the gap between them in two long strides and pulled her into his arms. “Mmmm . . . you smell good.”

“Too good for the Man Shed?” she teased.

“Never.” He released his hug just enough to guide her lips upward to meet his. “I’ve missed you these past few days.”

She closed her eyes briefly, savored the feel of his lips as they moved to her forehead. “Ditto.” Stepping back still farther, she waved at the wooden shell to the side of the shed. “Is that the collection booth?”

“It sure is. And it’s really starting to come along, thanks to—” He stopped, looked around, and then shrugged. “Well, they were here just a minute ago.”

“They?” she asked, as she, too, did a visual scan of their surroundings.

“Curtis and Doug.” Milo took a few steps forward, then turned back to Tori. “Curtis showed up at eight this morning. Then, before I knew it, Doug was stumbling out of the garage saying he wanted to help, too.”

“Things going okay with him staying in the garage while he’s working at Rose’s place?” She lifted her hand to her brow line to block the noon sun. “It’s not getting to be too much?

His shoulders rose and fell once again. “Nah. He’s a good guy. Gets himself to work in the morning and gets himself back in the evening.” He turned back to the booth. “Curtis? Doug? Where’d you two go?”

“Right here, boss.” Doug stepped out of the Man Shed, his muscular body filling his navy blue T-shirt out nicely. His face lit up when he noticed Tori.

She swallowed.

“Why if it isn’t my scrumptious meal maker. How are you this mornin’, darlin’?”

“I’m fine. How are you?”

Tucking his thumbs inside his waistband, he flashed a knee-melting smile in her direction. “Better now. All this male bonding is great and all but it don’t hold a candle to the sight of a pretty lady.”

She flashed a look at Milo, felt her shoulders relax at the sight of his easygoing smile. “Hands off, chum. She’s taken.”

Doug laughed. “I know. And so am I. But I ain’t blind.”

“It must be hard being away from your wife and kids like this,” Tori said, her gaze diverted from Doug by the appearance of Curtis in a black and white ball cap. “Oh. Hi there, Curtis. I’m not sure if you remember me but I met you at—”

The man brought his fingers to the bill of his hat and tipped his head forward a hairbreadth. “Mizz Barker’s house. I remember. Nice to see you again.” He released his grip on his hat and toed the ground with his work boot. “I’m mighty sorry to hear about your friend, miss.”

She stepped closer, extending her hand to the man. “Thank you. And I’m Tori, by the way.”

“Tori,” he repeated quietly. Her name was no sooner past his lips before a shy smile spread its way across his face. “Leona’s mentioned your name to me.”

“Don’t believe a word that woman says,” Milo said with mock seriousness. “Tori is truly far from a lost cause when it comes to the ways of the south.”

Curtis looked from Tori to Milo and back again, his brows furrowed in confusion. “She didn’t mention that. Just said Tori was real sweet.”

“Sweet?” Tori echoed.

“Actually I think her word was
refreshin’
. Yeah, that’s it. I remember because it’s a word my grandmammy used to use.” Curtis stretched his arms above his head only to bring them back down to his sides.

“She said I was refreshing?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Did you happen to get it on tape?”

He looked a question at her.

She stifled back the urge to laugh, instead opting for an explanation for her silly response. “Don’t mind me. Leona is one of my dearest friends. It’s just that—”

“Ladies talk a whole ’nother language, Curtis, my boy. A whole ’nother language.” Doug pointed at the booth. “So what’cha think?”

Eager to see their work up close, Tori maneuvered her way around the wooden two-by-fours they’d nailed together to form the booth’s shell. A crossbeam, about chest high, denoted what she assumed was the front. “Will that be a counter?”

Milo nodded. “Very good.” He took point, leading her around the shell. “This booth is going to be better than the last one. It’s size will enable several people to work inside it at any given time, and its depth will allow for the presence of bins that can hold some of the items we hand out most—cans of food, diapers, those sorts of things.”

She listened, her mind digesting everything he said. “Where did you keep those things before?”

“In the basement of town hall. Folks would come to the booth, tell us what they needed, and we’d give them a ticket to redeem at town hall as well as the next date someone would be manning the station.” He glided his hand along the crossbeam. “And it’s a system that works for the most part. But sometimes, when someone comes with a more immediate need . . . like they can’t feed their family that night . . . you feel kinda helpless telling them to come back in a week. Having these bins in the booth will cut down on that somewhat.”

“It’s a good thing you folks are doin’ with this here booth,” Doug said as he grabbed a piece of plywood and positioned it along the back of the booth. Curtis stepped up beside him and pulled a hammer from his tool belt. “It’s nice to be helpin’ out in a town where people look out for one ’nother.”

Curtis nodded but said nothing, his right hand finding its grip on the hammer as his left steadied the nail.

“It is, isn’t it?” Tori asked as she glanced at Milo. Like clockwork, the butterflies that often took flight when she looked at him soared into action. “But you can’t lump me in with Milo. In fact, I didn’t even know there
was
a collection booth like this until just the other day—
after
it was destroyed in the storm.”

Milo pulled his hand from the beam and slipped it around Tori’s waist, pulling her close. “Don’t listen to this woman. Hammering a booth together is like child’s play compared to what she’s done since she’s come to town.”

Curtis poked his head around the portion of wall he’d hammered into place. “Come to town?”

“I’m not from here,” she explained, turning her head to avoid the direct rays of the sun. “Not originally, anyway. I spent the past few years living up north . . . in Chicago.”

“Hey, I’ve been there!” Doug stepped out from behind the booth. “Brought my kids back a jar of water from the lake.”

“A jar of water?” Milo asked.

Doug nodded. “Didn’t work so well. My son and my daughter each want something different. They don’t want to share. So I thought about buyin’ them a stone in that Millennium Park place but then decided not to. There’d have been nothin’ to bring back to show them ’cept some papers with my name on it.”

“I’ve been to Chicago, too.” Curtis walked around the booth, stopping to tap a few nails in harder. “Only I left with nothing.”

“Nothin’?”

He nodded, his gaze focused on a distant point over Doug’s shoulder. “Been barely scraping by ever since. It’s why I’m here . . . chasing storms. Keeps me from having to come to a place”—he pointed at the booth in front of him—“like this with my pride all but ripped from my heart.”

Leaning against the Man Shed, Milo raked a hand through his hair. “That’s the problem. I’m betting there are far more families in the area who could use the kind of help this booth symbolizes but they’re too afraid—or too proud—to tell anyone.”

“Sometimes, when times are tough, pride is all a man has left.” Curtis dropped his hammer into his tool belt. “Asking for help destroys pride. And when it’s the last thing you have left, it’s mighty hard to part with it. Trust me on that.”

“But if a person needs help, he should ask,” Tori whispered.

Curtis met her gaze before looking away, his own voice barely discernable. “Easier said than done, sometimes. That’s why figuring it out yourself, and on your own terms, is often the better way to go.”

A cracking noise broke through the silence that followed, Doug’s grin softening the transition made by his knuckles. “Sorry ’bout that. But talkin’ about things like this ruins a mood. And when we’re surrounded by a day like this”—he held his arms outward—“that’s not the kinda mood I’m lookin’ for.”

“Sorry, man, my mistake.” Curtis bent over and picked up a second piece of plywood. “Let’s get back to it then.”

“Do you guys mind if I take five?” Milo asked

“Not at all.” Doug pointed his hammer from Milo to Tori and back again. “You take some time. We’ve got things covered here, don’t we, Curtis?”

Curtis simply nodded, his attention focused on positioning the second piece of wood alongside the first.

With his back still against the Man Shed, Milo pulled her close. “So how was your emergency meeting the other night? The one at Georgina’s?”

“It was good. Everyone is willing to chip in and help with the hats and scarves.”

“See? I knew they’d help you.”

She closed her eyes at the feel of his finger as it traced its way down her jawline. When she opened them, he was studying her with nothing short of love in his eyes.

Which started the butterfly brigade all over again.

Determined to keep things light in the presence of the other men, she continued on, her gaze locked on his. “And everyone has agreed to reach out to Rose . . . nudge her into different projects to keep her mind off things.”

Milo’s shoulders dipped. “Yeah, I heard about Kenny. Seems the entire faculty of Sweet Briar Elementary knew about the rope.”

She nodded but said nothing.

“And it won’t be long before they release the contents of the house.”

“To whom?”

“Seems Martha Jane has a sister in a nursing home in Georgia. Rose knows who she is. Anyway, she’ll need someone to gather up Martha Jane’s things and ship them to her unless she hires a company.” Milo’s finger moved to her cheek, cupping her face in his hand. “But even with that, I’m sure she’ll want someone watching over to make sure nothing is taken. The elderly are favorite targets for scam artists.”

She considered his words. “Maybe I could help.”

“You mean during those five seconds you have between working, sewing, making hats and scarves for the shelter, and everything else you do?”

She shrugged. “How hard could it be? Besides, maybe that’s something Rose and I could do together.” As she spoke, the idea became more and more appealing. “It might make her feel a little less helpless and—”

Nudging her face upward, he squelched her words with a kiss to end all kisses, leaving her more than a little weak-kneed. When he released her, he smiled, dimples carving holes into his cheeks. “You are a special woman, Tori Sinclair. You do realize that, don’t you?”

Unaccustomed to such heartfelt sentiment from a man who tended to lean toward sweet actions rather than tender words to convey his emotions, she simply stared up at him, unsure of what to say. When she finally spoke, her words were little more than a whisper. “It’s nothing my friends wouldn’t do for me.”

“Ahhh. Paying it forward, huh?”

“Paying it
back
. . . to a woman who stood by me through some of my own dark days.” She rose up onto her tiptoes and kissed the tip of Milo’s chin before turning toward the street and her awaiting car.

“Lucky Rose,” Milo mumbled just loud enough for her to hear.

She turned back, waving farewell to Doug and Curtis in the process. “No. Lucky
me
.” Raising her palm beneath her bottom lip, she blew Milo a final kiss, his humorous attempt to catch it making her laugh out loud. “Now get back to work. All of you.”

Chapter 12