Pinned for Murder (19 page)

“First career? What are you talking about?”

He pulled her back to his chest and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, his breath against her ear making everything in the world as close to right as possible. At least temporarily. “Every fall I invite people from different careers into my classroom to talk to the students about what they do. And every time I do it, I tend to have the same people—Georgina Hayes, Robert Dallas, Colby Calhoun, Carter Johnson, and Harrison James.”

“The mayor, the police chief, a published novelist, a restaurant owner, and an attorney sound like a pretty good lineup to me.”

“It does. But this year I’m going to get to showcase a trade.”

She looped her hands around his arms and closed her eyes, his nearness relaxing her body for the first time all day. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Doug does a little woodworking when he’s home for an extended period of time.”

“What kind of stuff does he make?” she asked.

“Well, all I’ve seen so far is a cane, a doll, and a bird-house, but it’s really good. He said he’d bring more when he comes to talk to the kids.”

“That’s good. It’ll be nice for the kids who struggle with schoolwork to see that there are lots of options in life.” She felt her breath changing to match his, the rise and fall of his chest behind her much steadier than hers had been before he arrived. “I think I’ll have that candy bar now.”

He let his arms fall to his sides as she sat up and reached for the chocolate, her hand brushing the dark green scarf she’d nearly completed. “So, did Georgina tell you about the money yet?”

She offered him a piece of chocolate and he opened his mouth in response. “What about it? Do we get to spend it?”

“Don’t know that yet. But, apparently, Martha Jane’s sister has said that if it is her money, she’d like to keep the donation in place. The one for the library, too.”

It was news she knew should make her happy. Yet, for some reason it didn’t, not really anyway.

“What’s wrong?” Milo asked.

She glanced back at him, her shoulders rising and falling beneath her Chicago sweatshirt. “I don’t know. I guess it all comes back to the same thing.”

“Kenny?”

“Yeah. Kenny.” She set the candy bar back on the table and grabbed the pillow once again. “I guess it’s all this talk about the money. It’s the one place where things don’t add up.”

Milo sat up. “How so?”

“Well . . .” She stopped only to start again, previous conversations with Rose guiding her words. “From what I gather, Kenny has some learning issues, yes?”

He nodded. “I believe that’s putting it mildly.”

“He has trouble reading, trouble processing, and trouble with the value of items.”

Again, he nodded.

“But what sticks in my mind most from everything Rose has ever said is the fact that he doesn’t have a concept of money. It’s why she helped him with his bills. He didn’t seem to know the difference between a dollar and a thousand dollars.”

“Okay . . .”

She pulled her right knee onto the couch and swiveled her body to face him. “If those donations are from him, why wouldn’t there be smaller amounts? You know . . . a few dollar bills, maybe a couple of tens?”

“I don’t know.”

“See? That’s what I’m talking about. The amounts don’t make sense. If he was as money-challenged as Rose said, how come the amounts were so good?”

“He just grabbed a handful and stuffed it inside? I don’t know.”

“You guys got three thousand, right? That’s a lot of stuffing for one envelope.”

Milo bobbed his head slowly, as if he was considering her statement from various angles. “But in what form was Martha Jane’s money? Do you know?”

She closed her eyes tightly, willed her mind to recall the various wads of money that had left little room for socks in the woman’s drawer. “Hundreds, I think.”

“Well, that makes it easier to understand how he got to such high amounts.”

Damn.

“But doesn’t it stand to reason, he’d have put one or two into each envelope . . . or the same amount in both?”

“I don’t know, Tori, I really don’t. I don’t know if we’ll ever know how or why he did the things he did. His cognitive ability isn’t where it should be.”

Exhaling loudly, she slumped against the back of the couch, the peaceful feeling she’d welcomed disappearing as quickly as it had come, leaving a sense of defeat in its place.

“It’s hopeless, isn’t it?”

He studied her for a long moment, his gaze fixing on hers with an apologetic expression. “I’m afraid it might be. The evidence they have makes it virtually a slam dunk.”

“Because of the rope?”

“That’s one.”

“His anger at her public accusation?”

“That’s two. With a capital
T
.”

“And the fact that he came running out from behind her house not long before she was found?”

He cocked his head to the left. “I hadn’t heard that, but it certainly doesn’t help.” Pulling her close once again, he cupped the side of her face with his hand and touched his nose to hers. “I think it’s time to focus your efforts in another direction.”

“What direction is that?” she whispered.

“Helping Rose accept the truth.”

Chapter 17

She looked up from her desk as Nina walked into the room, a shy smile lighting the woman’s dark face.

“You should have seen little Tommy Davis just now. He was wearing the Paul Bunyon costume and singing some silly song. He had his sisters in stitches.”

“Are they here with Melissa or Margaret Louise?”

“Their Mee-Maw.”

“Are they still here?”

Nina nodded.

“I’ll be right out. I’m just looking through this catalogue to see how much the kid-sized chairs are going to run us. See if we can get two or three like I’ve been thinking. If we can score a table, too, even better.”

“The kids will love that. They like the bean bag chairs, but I think the little guys would do better in real chairs.”

“I agree.” She flipped back to the index page, her finger trailing its way down the list of items sorted by page number. When she reached the line for juvenile furniture, she turned back to the proper page, little wooden chairs and tables showcased in various configurations and sizes.

“That one would be perfect,” Nina said, peeking over Tori’s shoulder. “It wouldn’t take up too much space.”

Her assistant was right. The set was perfect. But four chairs and a table? On top of the brackets and the curtain she’d already written down on her sheet? She matched the item number to the cost on the left and plugged it into the calculator after pressing the Plus sign.

$1,498.50.

Nina clapped her hands. “We can do it!”

Tori stared at the calculator, then pressed Clear. “It’s got to be wrong.” Looking at the paper she’d slid to the side, she plugged in the cost of the brackets and the stage curtain once again, then added the cost of the furniture from the catalogue.

$1,498.50
.

“How on earth?”

“It’s called an angel, Miss Sinclair. And she’s sitting on your shoulder right now.”

“An angel with an uncanny sense for money . . .” The words trailed from her mouth as her thoughts traveled back to Kenny for the umpteenth time that week. Shaking her head, she willed herself to let it go. Coincidences happened. They happened all the time. This was just one of those times.

A swell of giggling filled the hallway, only to be hushed away within seconds.

Setting the calculator atop the catalogue and pushing them both to the side of her desk, Tori glanced up at the door and waited, her lips ready with the smile that was synonymous with the Davis kids.

First came Lulu, the dark-haired eight-year-old who had captured her heart the moment they met. A former student of Milo’s, Lulu adored books in much the same way Tori had at that age. She was sweet and shy, clever and creative, and sharp as a tack just like a modern and more pint-sized version of Nancy Drew.

Next came Jake Junior, the oldest of Jake and Melissa’s brood. A natural with his six siblings, he was a teacher in the making Milo once said . . . unless Jake Senior had plans to hijack his son to help in the garage he owned in the center of Sweet Briar.

Hot on their heels came three more—Julia, Tommy, and Kate—followed by Margaret Louise and Sally.

“Hi, Miss Sinclair!” Lulu ran around the desk and wrapped her arms around Tori, her smile brighter than the sun streaming through the plate glass window. “When Mee-Maw said we could go anywhere we wanted today I said the library!”

“No, I did.” Sally hopped up and down and danced in a little circle.

“No, I did,” protested Tommy.

Margaret Louise cleared her throat in her trademark way of getting order among the troops, and like clockwork, all arguing stopped. The woman grinned at Tori.

“To what do I owe this happy honor . . . on a school day no less?” she asked, tapping Lulu’s nose. “Are you playing hooky? In my library?”

The four oldest giggled while the two youngest stared at Tori. “What’s hooky?” Lulu finally asked, looking from Margaret Louise to Tori and back again. “Mee-Maw?”

“Hooky means to skip school, sweetheart.”

“I can skip!” Sally announced. “Wanna see me, Miss Sinclair? Huh? Watch this!” In a flash the little bundle of four-year-old energy skipped across Tori’s office, pigtails flying. When she reached the opposite end of the tiny room, she turned around and skipped back to her spot beside her grandmother. “Did you see? Did you?”

She rose from her chair and came around the desk, Lulu at her side. Squatting down, she got to Sally’s eye level and offered the biggest smile she could muster. “I did. And it was very, very, very good.”

Sally spun around on her pink sneakers and grabbed her grandmother’s hand. “Mee-Maw . . . did you hear that? Miss Sinclair said my skipping is very, very, very good. That’s three whole
very
’s!”

“I heard that.” Margaret Louise placed her hands on the child’s shoulders and backed her up against her own plump form, the gesture as much about love as it was to gain order. “To answer your question, Victoria, the children have off today because of parent-teacher conferences.”

“Oh, that’s right. Milo mentioned that the other day. I guess it slipped my mind.”

“Jake and Melissa are meetin’ with Jake Junior, Julia, Tommy, Kate, and Lulu’s teachers. I offered to take Molly, too, but Melissa said six was enough.” Waving Jake Junior to her side, the woman met his gaze with a no-nonsense one of her own. “If I let you take everyone outside, can I trust you to keep an eye on them for ten minutes while I visit with Miss Sinclair?”

Jake nodded.

“That means keeping every last one of ’em with you and not lettin’ ’em wander off willy-nilly.”

The boy grinned. “I know, Mee-Maw.”

To the others, Margaret Louise cocked an eyebrow and adopted her best warning face. “Jake Junior is in charge. What he says . . . goes. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Mee-Maw,” five little voices said in unison.”

“Lulu?”

“Yes, Mee-Maw.”

“Tommy?”

“Yes, Mee-Maw.”

“Kate?”

“Okey dokey spa-mokey.”

Tori bit back a laugh.

“Julia?”

The child nodded, eyes wide.

“Sally?”

“Can I skip?” she asked.

“If your brother says it’s okay, yes . . . but
only
if you skip where he says you can skip. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mee-Maw.”

Bending at the waist, Tori watched as her friend kissed each and every grandchild as they fell in line behind their appointed leader, her back straightening more with each child. When she reached Jake Junior, she gave him a kiss followed by a stern eye.

“I’ve got it covered, Mee-Maw.”

And then they were gone, six heads trailing out the door and toward the back steps. When they were safely outside, Margaret Louise slumped in one of two rattan chairs grouped together in the corner of Tori’s office, her body hitting the yellow cushion with an audible
oomph
. “I tell you, as good as those children are, I just don’t get how their mamma does it, bless her heart.”

She joined her friend, claiming the seat with the lavender cushion for her own. “Melissa is amazing, that’s for certain. But so, too, are you.”

Margaret Louise studied her for a moment, the expression on the woman’s face hard to discern.

“What? Did I say something wrong?”

The woman shook her head. “It’s what you’re not sayin’ that’s got my beehive in an uproar.”

“Hmmm, I wasn’t aware beehives had uproars,” she teased.

“Oh, they have uproars all right. Have ’em all the time.” Waving her hand in the air, Margaret Louise leaned forward. “But let’s not get sidetracked.”

“From . . .”

“From what it is that’s botherin’ you.”

She stared at her friend. “Is it that obvious?”

“To someone other than me, probably not. But I’m sharp, Victoria, you know that. In fact, if I was any better I’d have to be twins.”

Tori laughed. “You are.”

“I am?”