The Sinner - Molly O'Keefe Page 0,4
Matt asked and I rolled my eyes.
“Does she look like a grandmother?”
Matt smiled. “Good point. Does anyone else live here?”
“That doesn’t have anything to do with our garden,” I said.
“Yes, but—”
I pushed open the old oak doors to the bright sunlight and overgrown majesty of our secret garden.
“Holy—” he breathed, stepping up beside me on the cracked stone steps.
“The greenhouse needs to be repaired, and the trees, bushes, flowers and weeds all need to be dealt with.” I pointed to the worst of them, along the west wall. “There—” I indicated the center cluster of vines under the cypress “—is a bird feeder and bench under that mess that we’d like to see again. The back wall—” I swept my arm over to where the graffiti had been cleaned “—needs to be fixed and we think we need some security cameras—”
“Security? Why?”
“High school students like to break in, cause some trouble.” I was trying to be nonchalant. But you could still read the words we couldn’t quite get off the back wall.
“High school students did that?” he asked, pointing to the wrecked greenhouse, and I nodded. “Seems like a matter for the police.”
“We’ve tried that,” I said. And that was all I said. I wasn’t giving this man more than what he absolutely needed.
His eyes scanned the property as if he were putting price tags on everything.
And I didn’t like that one bit.
He was probably wondering what could be stolen, despite the tour he’d had through the shabby manor, stripped of its antique furniture and silver. Those diamonds Margot sported and my own small fortune in computer equipment were the only things of value left. But Matt didn’t know that.
“Looks like a reasonable job,” Matt said, staring at the mess. “I’ll take it.”
I swiveled on my heel to gape at him. “First, I have a few questions of my own.”
“Fire away.” He held his arms out the sides, his fine shirt hugging the lean muscles in his stomach.
“You’re not from around here, so where are you from?”
“How do you know I’m not from here?”
“Small town in a small Parrish, Mr. Howe. We know everyone.”
“St. Louis. I’ve been…working with an architecture firm there for the last few years.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to ignore a bead of sweat trickling down the side of Matt’s strong, bronzed neck.
“I heard there was a lot of work in Louisiana.”
Couldn’t argue with that—it seemed the state needed to be rebuilt top to bottom.
“You’re, what? Thirtysomething?”
“Thirty-four.”
“And you can just up and leave St. Louis? You have no responsibilities?”
“None that won’t keep for a while.”
“Are you on the run?”
“From the law?” His lip curled as if he was laughing and my head snapped back at the insult. The man had no reason to laugh. Not here, not now. He quickly shook his head, his smile gone. “I’m not running from the law.”
“My best friend is police chief in town, she can find out if you’re lying.”
“She’s welcome to,” he said, his green eyes guileless. “I haven’t broken any laws.”
“A woman? A family? Have you left behind some kids?”
“No,” he said quickly, sounding horrified. “No, of course not.”
I had no reason to trust him, but in this area I did. For some reason the earnest horror in his eyes seemed sincere.
He wouldn’t leave behind kids.
I had to give him some points for that.
“Do you have some references?”
“References?”
“Yes,” it was my turn to laugh. “I believe it’s standard to offer some proof of your reliability before I give you carte blanche with my garden.”
“It’s hardly a garden—”
“References,” I said, not about to listen to him disparage my refuge. I pulled my cell phone free from the pocket in my skirt. “Let’s start with that architecture firm in St. Louis.”
Perhaps it was a trick of the sun, but Matt seemed to go white.
“Steel and Wood Architecture,” he said and then gave me the number. I turned sideways for a modicum of privacy and he stepped away as if studying the crumbling stone steps. The receptionist answered on the second ring.
“Stone and Wood Architecture, this is Erika.”
“Hi. Erika. My name is Savannah O’Neill. I’m considering hiring a Matt Howe to do some gardening and repair work around my home and he gave me Steel and Wood Architecture as a reference-“
“Matt Howe?” Erica asked. “How do you spell that last name? With an e at the end?”
I tilted the phone away from my mouth. “Is that with an e at the end?” I asked Matt.
He nodded.
“Yep,” I told Erica.