The Hunk Next Door(12)

He walked straight back to the kitchen and put his vest on the peg by the back door. The simple act had him recalling the chief’s concern about his coat. One more piece of the developing picture that was her. Could he use that innate concern to his advantage?

He glanced out the side window, across their mirrored driveways, to her house. Resigned, he pulled a beer from the refrigerator, leaned back against the counter and contemplated the Hamiltons’ outdated kitchen.

His tape measure was on his tool belt in the truck, but he paced off the flooring and started mulling over the cost and benefits of tile versus vinyl. Reclaimed hardwood might be an option, too. The space wasn’t too big. But the weather could make tracking down those materials a challenge. Per his agreement, any changes beyond basic repair would need to be approved.

Oh, well, he wasn’t in a rush. There was plenty of remodeling to keep him busy and maintain his cover even after he was done with the holiday setup. He rolled some of the ache from his shoulders. The physical work would give his brain time to sort out the people who were ready to act on their anger toward the chief.

He’d only been in town a couple of days and it wasn’t a stretch that criminals thought they could slip under the radar in this sleepy little waterside town. Chief Jensen had things under control, but the police force was small, as was the community. The docks did brisk business and the smaller port meant quicker turnaround, which meant shipments didn’t linger long enough to get caught.

Riley walked into the den where he’d tucked his laptop into the small writing desk. The Hamiltons’ decorating style wasn’t exactly his taste, but the privacy and security beat a motel.

He turned on the television and found a music channel for background noise, then sat down to review everything he could find about Belclare, working backward from the most recent news. By now, he’d been over all of the details and press about the drug bust a hundred times and still couldn’t pinpoint who might have set it up.

Taking a long draw on his beer, he pulled up files he’d created on key people in town, especially those who’d vocalized frustration and concern over the chief’s victory speech. The hardware store owner had gone public for a Baltimore news station. The mayor, too, more than once. Riley chalked that up to making the most of free publicity for the hardware store and the mayor was leveraging the attention for his political advancement. The well-spoken politician was nearly as irritating as the whiny Mr. Filmore.

Riley was digging deeper into Filmore’s background when the doorbell chimed. He quickly closed the windows related to his search and brought up the remodeling sites that fit his cover story. In the hall, he spied visitors at his kitchen door. Chief Jensen and an older lady. Both were smiling, but only the older woman looked like she was truly happy to be there.

He manufactured a smile and answered the door. “Evening, ladies.” He flashed the chief a covert smile.

“Excuse us for dropping in without any warning,” the older woman said cheerfully. “I’m Matilda Wilks, just two doors down. Abby here offered to join me in welcoming you to the neighborhood.”

Abby’s cloudy expression told a much different story. He grinned, knowing she’d either been dragged along or had joined Mrs. Wilks solely for the purpose of checking the Hamiltons’ property. His money was on the latter.

“We brought cookies.” Mrs. Wilks waved the foil-covered plate in her hand. “Fresh from the oven.”

“I’d be a fool to turn you away,” Riley said, holding the door wide for them. Let Abby look around. She needed to realize he wasn’t a threat to her, even if he couldn’t tell her outright that he was her best asset.

Mrs. Wilks bustled in and the scent of warm chocolate-chip cookies tickled his nose. But the scent of Abby, as she strolled past him in the narrow hall, brought his entire body to high alert. She’d let down her hair and the glossy blond mane smelled of flowers warmed by sunshine. While he didn’t understand the science behind fragrances, he appreciated the effects.

That scent took him back to the garden behind the orphanage, where he’d first discovered the satisfaction of working with his hands.

“Poor Abby here hadn’t heard about the Hamiltons, what with everything she’s had on her mind,” Mrs. Wilks was saying. Making herself right at home, she put the plate on the table and removed the foil, revealing a pile of thick, perfectly browned chocolate-chip cookies. Then she spotted the beer on the counter. “Tell me you have milk? Or even coffee?”

“Both,” he said, grinning.

“Good boy.” Mrs. Wilks beamed up at him, her steel-gray hair swinging as she turned to the chief. “Which do you prefer, Abby dear?”