Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

" C orey?"

He recognized that tone. A request for a favor was about to follow. Most likely something he wasn't going to be happy about, because the bigger the favor, the sweeter his mother asked.

Not that she had to be extra sweet. The guilt weighing on him—for not being home when his father had died, for not being home a whole hell of a lot since—meant he'd say yes to anything she wanted.

"Yes, Mom?" he answered just as sweetly, coming around the corner and stepping into the kitchen.

Momentarily the sight of his mother icing cupcakes drove what he might be signing up to do completely out of his head.

"Mmm. Yum." He stepped closer and received a slap on the wrist when he stuck his finger into the icing bowl.

"Nope! These are for?—"

"Historical Society meeting? Book club? Church bake sale? Anniversary Celebration Committee?" he suggested with a smile.

What he hadn't asked was if Josie would be there.

He wasn't sure what answer he wanted. That depended upon what mood she was in that day and how much hate she'd spew at him.

"The neighbor girl's birthday," his mother finished her sentence with a raised brow.

His eyes widened. "It's Josie Baldwin's birthday?"

She frowned and sent him a glance that proved he'd shown his hand. Revealed that Josie was on his mind much too much.

"No." She shook her head. "We do have other neighbors, you know. And speaking of Josie, how is the project going? She didn't say much about it yesterday. Just dropped off the keys and ran home to start work."

"I don't really know."

She'd kicked him out pretty fast yesterday since she apparently hated him for some reason. But one of those cupcakes would soothe his hurt feelings.

"So who are these for then?" he asked, inching closer to the counter until his mother shot him a warning glance.

"Missy. The little girl who lives on the other side of our house," she said. "She's turning thirteen. Her mom's currently deployed and her poor father has his hands full planning the sleepover so I volunteered to bake something for the girls. Not that I wouldn't bake for Josie's birthday too, especially since her parents are away, but I probably wouldn't be making Barbie cupcakes for her."

"You are too good to everyone, Mom. But that's really nice of you. I'm sure Missy's mom would appreciate you stepping in while she can't." He gave his mother a one-armed hug, feeling guilty he too wasn't doing something to help a fellow serviceman. And that he was trying to steal one of the poor girl's cupcakes. "Did you need me to bring them over?"

"Not yet. I've got lots more decorating to do. But could you run the keys over to the library for Josie?" She tipped her head toward the key hooks next to the cabinets in the kitchen.

Maybe it wasn't his fault Josie was on his mind so much. His mother and her favors were a big part of the reason. And those damn keys.

"Why did she return them if she just needed them again today?" he asked, scowling as he reached for them.

"She didn't need them today because the library is open and the librarian could let her in. But Irene just called me to say she's got a family emergency and has to close up. She's fine leaving Josie upstairs after she's gone but if that poor girl needs to leave to take a lunch break or get something cold to drink, she'll want to lock up, but then she won't be able to get back in."

He stifled a groan. As much as he hated to be Josie's deliveryman, his mother was right.

Of course, having Josie be beholden to him because he was doing yet another favor had its merits. She'd owe him. She'd have to tone down the snark and be nice.

But knowing Josie, she wouldn't share that opinion. She was a loose cannon. He should probably give up trying to predict what she'd do or how she'd act—in particular toward him.

"All right. I'll head over now."

"Thank you, sweetie."

"No problem, Mom."

"There's this one cupcake that came out a little lopsided and too small. Want me to save that one for you?" she offered.

He sniffed out a laugh. "Yes, please. And I won't even be offended you're only offering me your reject baked goods."

" Pfft! All cupcakes are good. Lopsided or not."

He couldn't argue with that. Maybe it was a good thing he wasn't around here for longer. He might have trouble making weight when he got back.

The drive to the library in the next town wasn't incredibly long, but long enough it gave him time to consider what he might expect from Josie when he arrived.

He was just placing bets with himself regarding which Josie he'd face—the smart-ass joker or the downright mean and bitchy one—when he opened the archive room's door and came face-to-face with Josie's butt.

She teetered up on top of an ancient-looking wooden desk chair while reaching for something on a shelf high above her.

He bit back a cuss.

"Why are all the women in my life destined to risk breaking their necks in front of me?" he said as he tossed the keys on the worktable nearby and rushed toward where Josie balanced.

He hesitated to put his hands on her. Instead choosing to stand close, arms up, spotting her just in case. He figured actually touching her would get him a slap on the hand, if not across the face. She'd be unhappy enough just seeing him there.

"It's not here," she said.

The fact she didn't yell at him, didn't grill him, didn't accuse him of stalking her, was one indication something wasn't right. So was the panicked tone in her voice.

"What's not here?" he asked, not moving from his position as she twisted to look briefly at him before reaching again to sweep her hand along a shelf over her head.

"The founder's compass. It was here yesterday. I left it on one of the lower shelves. But it's gone."

"So maybe someone moved it."

"That's why I'm looking up here. But I can't see. These shelves are too high." She continued to blindly run her hand along the shelf above her head, heading for a glass bottle he could see but she couldn't.

"Stop! You're going to break what is up there."

"I have to find it," she said, while thankfully stopping her blind search.

"Okay. I know. And we will. Just get down." This time he did put his hands around her waist when he discovered the horrifying fact that the chair was on wheels.

It was only two wheels on the back legs and none on the front but still. It was a hazard and standing on it was precarious at best. Not to mention stupid.

"Jesus, woman. Stand still," he said when she tried to climb down on her own.

Before she could protest, he lifted her easily enough with his two hands on her waist. He set her on her feet on the floor and braced himself for her wrath.

Again, it didn't come. Weird.

She looked at him for a second, dumbstruck silent, which wasn't a bad thing, then she shook her head.

There was the shine of tears in her eyes as she said, "They trusted me. I left it right there. Safe. Now it's gone."

"Someone else had to have moved it. We just have to ask the historical society if someone came in?—"

"No!" she said cutting him off. "Then they'll know I lost it. I have to find it before anyone notices it's missing."

"That's what I'm saying. Maybe it's not missing. Just moved. At least let me call my mom and ask her."

Josie cringed, looking so miserable he backpedaled.

"Fine. We'll take a good thorough look here now, but if we don't find it, then I'm going to call Mom. Okay?" he asked.

She pressed her lips tightly together. "Okay, but you have to tell her not to tell anyone else."

He shook his head. "Josie?—"

"Corey! This is my reputation on the line. They entrusted me with the keys and with this priceless irreplaceable object and now, the day after I was in here with it, it's missing."

He wanted to reiterate it might not be missing, just moved, but getting a word in edgewise when Josie was on a roll was nearly impossible.

"It's your reputation on the line too," she spat. "I would think you wouldn't be any more enthusiastic about being connected to this than I am."

Frowning, he asked, "What are you talking about?"

"You didn't exactly have a pristine reputation back in the day. And you had the keys as much, if not more, than me."

His eyes narrowed. "Are you seriously accusing me of stealing this thing you're looking for?"

"No. But other people might."

"Because…" he prompted.

"Uh, are we forgetting that little joyride you took in that old truck you stole from Morgan Farm?"

"I was fifteen! And it wasn't a truck. It was a tractor."

"It still ended with you at the police station and your father having to leave work to come get you out. We could hear him screaming at you from our house."

He'd do anything to hear his father yell at him again now. But yeah, back then, it had been pretty bad. He'd been grounded, not that that mattered. He'd learned how to climb out his window years before. That trellis and the porch roof outside his bedroom might as well have been a ladder straight to freedom.

He couldn't navigate around the two-page list of extra chores that were his additional punishment. Those he had to actually do. Of course back then, when he didn't give a shit about anything or anybody, he did the bare minimum. Painted the garage like shit, leaving a mess of splatter on the trim and spills on the ground. Weeding the garden hadn't gone much better. He probably pulled out as many of his mother's plants and flowers as he did weeds.

The one assignment though, that he spend an hour a week reading to the veterans in the old age home, that one he couldn't phone in. God knows he tried. He pouted his way through the first couple of weeks. Until he realized the old guy looked forward to his visits and to the dumb book the old dude had asked him to read.

He actually hadn't stopped going when his punishment was up. He continued through a second book. Or at least part of it, until that day he arrived and the front desk told him his friend had passed away.

Corey let out a breath as the memory of that still hurt deep inside. Or maybe it just brought up the fresher feelings he'd been tamping down since more recent losses.

He glanced up to find Josie staring. Waiting.

"Well? Are you going to report this and be the kid who had detention for nearly all of eleventh and twelfth grade and who is now associated with a missing priceless object that means more to this town than anything else? Or are you going to help me look?" she demanded.

So maybe he had gotten in trouble a lot from about the time he was twelve, coincidentally—or maybe not so much—from right after his grandfather, a guiding force in his life, had passed.

And yeah, he'd gotten away with even more than he'd gotten caught doing, which did on occasion include stealing. But not priceless antique artifacts for God's sake!

He wasn't a kid anymore. He was a grown man with a career and morals and… the town might not see it the same way.

Josie could very well be right. He couldn't risk it.

Maybe they did need to do everything they could to find this damn thing before the historical society found out about it.

"Yes. Fine. I'll help you look."

"And keep it quiet?" she asked.

He drew in a breath, knowing he was going to regret this. "Yes. And keep it quiet."

For now…