Read Pinned for Murder for Free Online Page B

gaze.
    “See that one? He should have that yard cleared by now.”
    She looked past Curtis and into Rose’s yard, the blond man she’d hired bending to retrieve sticks again and again, stopping occasionally to toss them into an ever-growing pile not far from the property line that separated the two homes. “It looks like he’s working to me. . . .”
    “Hogwash,” Martha Jane argued. “He’s pretending ’cause he knows we’re watching. And look at my help. That man should be up on the roof patching holes instead of writing notes in that notebook of his. Writing doesn’t fix things. A hammer and nails does.”
    Realizing the men were both within earshot of everything the elderly woman said, Tori lowered her voice to a near whisper. “When did Curtis start?”
    “About thirty minutes ago.”
    “Thirty minutes?” she echoed in disbelief.
    “That’s right . . . thirty minutes.”
    “Maybe he’s prioritizing the jobs, writing them down so he can refer to them as he goes along.”
    Stamping her foot once again, the woman gestured toward the yard. “He can do that in his head while he’s fixing my home. That is what I’m paying for, isn’t it?”
    She considered arguing, contemplated defending the stranger on the other side of the screen enclosure who appeared to be working rather diligently in her view, but she opted in the end to let it go. She was there to help Rose, not to try and talk sense into someone who prided herself on arrogance and a sense of entitlement.
    “Could I see that drawer now? The one where you kept your money until it disappeared?”
    “You mean until it was stolen , don’t you?”
    Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Tori simply nodded.
    “Then follow me. My room’s just inside this doorway.” Martha Jane shuffled into her home via a door that led to the screened porch. One foot inside, she turned around, extending her finger within mere inches of Tori’s nose. “Don’t touch anything.”
    “I wouldn’t think of it,” she mumbled as she made a mental note to use Rose’s neighbor as a local example the next time Leona took a dig at Chicago’s big city dangers and paranoia.
    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