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"Are you gonna be out here lookin’ for clues?" she asked, her voice lilting with that teasing tone I was quickly becoming too familiar with.
“Yep.”
“Alright. Well, at least I know nothin’ will happen to me while you’re out here,” she sang out, backing toward the house with that playful smile still on her lips.
"Why’s that?" I asked, taking the bait even though I knew I shouldn’t.
She paused at the porch steps, glancing over her shoulder. "You saved my butt in the square, remember? You showed your hand then, too."
I couldn’t help but chuckle at that, shaking my head. As she turned and climbed the porch steps, the sway of her hips caught my eye, and for a second, I let myself forget about the case. For a second, I just watched her disappear into the house, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I’d shown more than my hand tonight. I’d let her in, made a deal with her that was only going to get her more entangled in this mess. And yet, here I was, standing in the cold, knowing I was in far deeper than I should’ve been—and not just with the case.
9?/?
dakota
I sipped my coffee, basking in the warm glow of the afternoon sun as it bathed the porch. I’d been up half the night with restless dreams, thanks to Tucker and everything that was going on. I still wasn’t sure what we were supposed to find in Hope’s basement, but I was betting on absolutely nothing.
I’d nap later. Or maybe I’d just go to bed as soon as he left. I’d rest easy once we came up empty, wouldn’t I?
Unfortunately, I’d come outside much earlier than necessary, and Tucker was nowhere in sight. I fidgeted with the ornate handle of Hope’s handmade coffee mug, pacing the porch.
He’d be here soon. Tucker seemed like the kind of man who wasneverlate. Unlike me, he probably showed up right when he said he’d be somewhere and wore a grumpy scowl if whoever he was meeting wasn’t there yet. Scratch that—he’d probably show up early and still scowl until the other person arrived, even if they were on time.
I, on the other hand, was perpetually late. I was working on it. Daily. But unless it was for a shift at the hospital, people around here just kind of expected me to get there as soon as I could. I’d heard about island time, but since we lived in Charlotte Oaks, I guessed that made it tiny town time?
I bit my lip as I glanced back toward the front door. I had just the remedy for all this fidgeting in my cute overnight bag, nestled between my pajamas and toiletry bag. Setting my coffee mug aside, I skipped through the heavy front door of the log cabin and retrieved my crochet hook, yarn, and half a sweater, already feeling less jittery.
Hope was at work, and I’d called out because treasure hunting was serious business. But it had killed me to hang out with Hope before she left for her shift at the station without telling her about my afternoon plans with Tucker in her basement. I wasn’t one to lie, but in this case, telling her the truth felt like it’d do a whole lot more harm than good.
After all, if she were somehow complicit in this theft, it wouldn’t be ideal for her to know the jig was up. And if she had nothing to do with it… well, I didn’t want her to think I ever believed she did. And truly, I didn’t believe it. Hope’s grandpa was a nice older man, and Hope didn’t have a sneaky bone in her body.
But, good intentions or not, I was about to let a stranger poke around in her grandpa’s basement in the name of clearinghername. Did that make me sneaky with a heart of gold?
I’d need to ask Momma about it later. She was my moral compass with a colorful flair, and I was already more relaxed just knowing she’d help me put things into perspective once this was all over.
I stepped back onto the porch, my yarn and hook bundled against my chest.
"Dakota," Tucker greeted me in his gravelly voice.
I jumped, fumbling the bundle of brown and gold in my arms. Then I watched in horror as my ball of yarn dropped to the ground and rolled across the dirty porch. Tucker lifted a brow as he stopped it from rolling down the steps by planting his massive boot in its path.
"Ninja," I returned his greeting, playing it off like his sudden appearance hadn’t startled me into sending that ball of yarn rolling in his direction.
He studied me for a moment, head tilted to the side, then looked down at the yarn. I winced as he picked it up. It wasn’t a small skein, and while it looked like a grapefruit when I held it, the size of his hand made it look more like an orange.
He brushed a stray leaf and some dirt from the fibers of the yarn, and my eyes widened when he began winding it up, inevitably reeling me in like a fish on a hook.
He stopped when I was about a foot away, and while I expected him to hand it over, he still held the yarn in his big paw as he looked down, still studying me.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. “What?”
“What is all this?” he asked, nodding at the first half of a sweater bundled in my arms.
“It’s crochet,” I replied. I lifted my chin. “It relaxes me.”
He still wasn’t giving my yarn back, and I was stuck there waiting for him to hand it over since I wasn’t willing to risk pulling stitches from my work-in-progress. Peachy.
