“Okay.” He didn’t know what to do with his empty hands. Was that a veiled invitation to demand professional answers or personal pleasure? There was nothing in her gaze or body language to clue him in. “I can work on the tree lights in the present.”
“You can.” Her smile was slow and lovely in the soft light of the lamp in the corner. She put the next strand of lights in his hand.
Grateful for the distraction, he went back to the task.
“You’re a man of many talents,” she said carefully. “Can you tell me where you learned about bombs?”
Officially, the answer was no. “I learned about explosives on the job,” he said, choosing not to specify which job.
“But we didn’t open that trunk and find explosives. You found wires. And the note.”
“Wires that didn’t belong. Wires that led to explosives. The note was meant to be found. If not by me, then by you or another officer.” He risked a look over his shoulder, catching the thoughtful crease between her brows. Someone had made her doubt him when she didn’t really want to. He resumed stringing each branch with lights. “Explosives are used in a number of construction situations. I’ve had my share of experience handling those situations. Truth is, I know a little something about a lot of things, Abby. Cars, flooring, garland. It’s why I took the job here.” Another nugget of truth, though he doubted she’d ever willingly forgive him for the omission. “It’s why I took on the Hamilton house.”
“Okay.”
He finished with that strand and plugged it into the previous one. “Plug it in,” he said, nodding to the outlet. “Let’s see if you’re happy so far.”
On hands and knees, she gave his resolve one hell of a test as she plugged it in. He turned his gaze to the tree before she caught him lusting after the sweet, ripe curve of her backside.
“Wow,” she whispered. “It’s lovely.”
Man of many talents, he thought. “I’m thinking you’re less picky and more the easygoing type.”
“You wish,” she said. “Forgive the interrogation. You were just cucumber-cool with everything today, I thought maybe you’d spent time as a cop or...”
“A criminal?”
“They are known to wander.”
“Would a criminal have helped Mrs. Wilks?”
“No, but a con man might.”
He’d walked right into that one. “Well, she does make a chocolate-chip cookie worth reforming for, but I’m neither criminal nor con man.”
“No. According to Mayor Scott, you’re the hero of Belclare.”
He choked on that moniker. “I could go the rest of my life without having those words aimed at me,” he said. “You can trust me, Abby.” If anyone in Belclare was on her side, it was him. “Let’s finish this.” He was referring to more than the tree.
“Maybe I don’t trust myself,” she admitted, handing him more lights. “Every time I turn around something else is damaged or someone else is in jeopardy.”
“You got the win today.”
She snorted and started pacing across the room behind him. “No one to question is hardly a victory. They didn’t recover any helpful prints at Mrs. Wilks’s house.”
“Has Filmore offered anything more?”
“No.”
Her impatience was disconcerting. He’d bet his fake cover story family and their shepherd’s pie that she’d done something drastic. “I trust you,” he said. “So do Mrs. Wilks, Calder, Peg, your department. They aren’t idiots, Abby, and you don’t have to be a lifelong resident of Belclare to see they rely on you because they know they can.”
He wrestled his way through the middle section of the tree, grateful that it kept him from reaching for her. She had to bring him a stepladder to finish the top, but he could tell she was pleased when the job was done.
“I hate stringing lights,” she said.
“Happy to help.”
“Whether I start at the top or the bottom,” she continued, “I always get irritated and careless before the job is done.”
“That sounds really out of character for you.”
“It’s one place patience fails me.” Laughing at herself, she handed him a star for the top of the tree.
“Don’t you want to put it on?”
She shook her head. “You’re already there.”
“All right.” He secured the star to the top and stepped down, setting the ladder to the side so it would be there when she put on the ornaments. “Looks good, if I do say so myself.”
She pulled the drapes across the window. “I agree.” But she was staring at him, not the tree. “You have sap on your shirt.” She came closer and pointed to the offending spot.