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she was speaking Greek to a man who was obviously one of the dozen or so drifters Milo had warned her about. “Do you think it’s okay if I walk through her backyard?”
    He raised his hands in the air. “Don’t see why not. It ain’t like you’re walking on fine crystal or a bed of breakable diamonds.”
    “It could be.” The second the words were out, she wished she could press Rewind. She didn’t know Martha Jane Barker well enough to be passing judgment, her only real knowledge of the woman based on hearsay. “Thanks for your help. By the way, I’m Tori. Tori Sinclair.”
    “Ma’am.”
    And with that, he was gone, his muscular frame disappearing around the opposite side of Martha Jane’s house.
    Shrugging, she made her way toward the woman’s deck, the steady sound of a rocking chair confirming her presence. “Martha Jane? It’s Victoria Sinclair.”
    A lined face peeked through the torn and tattered screen that wrapped around three sides of the deck, the mesh material serving as a buffer for insects and other pests. “I know you . . . you’re that new librarian that Rose is always talking about.”
    “I am.” She motioned toward the screen door. “Would you mind if I come in?”
    The woman stood and eyed her suspiciously. “Why?”
    Why indeed.
    “I noticed the damage to your home and just want to make sure you’re okay . . . see if there’s anything I can do to help.”
    “You mean the way Rose helped when she sent over that—that criminal?”
    She felt her shoulders slump. “Martha Jane . . . are you sure Kenny stole your money?”
    “Of course I’m sure,” the woman snapped, the shrillness of her voice making Tori wince. “One minute my money was there . . . in my top dresser drawer. The next it was gone.”
    “Is it possible someone broke in? That someone else took your money?”
    “No! That money was there for more years than you’ve been alive. And then suddenly, yesterday, it disappears right out of my drawer—poof! And you want to know what the only difference about yesterday was?”
    She waited, knowing the answer would come whether she asked for it or not.
    “I’ll tell you what it was . . . it was Kenny.”
    The snap of a twig on the other side of the deck made her pause. “What about the other man you have working here?”
    “You mean Curtis?”
    She bobbed her head to the right, took in the man’s muscular frame as he picked his way across the woman’s backyard, his hands scooping up scattered tree limbs. “Curtis? Yeah . . . I guess.”
    Martha Jane propped her wrinkled hands on her hips. “I hired Curtis after Kenny stole my money.”
    Her shoulders slumped further. “Martha Jane, Rose is crushed by the news. Absolutely crushed.” Glancing toward the man in the yard one last time, she willed her voice to take on a conspiratorial tone. “Would you mind if I saw the spot where Kenny found your money? So I can explain it to Rose in a way she’ll understand?”
    The elderly woman’s eyes narrowed. “You want to come into my home?”
    Tori held her breath and nodded.
    “You want me to let you look inside my dresser drawers?”
    Again, she nodded. “I know it seems odd, but I’m just trying to help Rose face reality sooner rather than later.”
    After what seemed like an eternity, the woman stepped backward, her hand tugging the screen door open. “Suit yourself. It’s high time Rose faced facts about that good-for-nothin’. She’s wasted enough time on that boy as far as I’m concerned.”
    Tori cringed at the woman’s terminology. “Rose seems to think Kenny is a good guy. That he’s honest and hardworking and—”
    “Well she’s obviously mistakin’, isn’t she?” Martha Jane stamped her slipper-clad foot on the wooden floor, her hands coming together in a clap as she peered through the screen beside the door. “They’re all the same, I tell you. Rude and lazy to the core.”
    “All?” Confused, Tori followed the path of Martha Jane’s