Temptation Trails - Page 146

“Hey.” I went to the island where my cookies were cooling and put my hand over them to feel how warm they were. “Are you about ready to head home?”

She didn’t answer. Just kept washing something in the sink.

“Mila?”

Turning around, she popped an earbud out of one ear. “Were you speaking?”

“Right, headphones. I was just wondering if you’re ready to head home.”

“Almost.”

“Okay. Thanks for your help today.” I pointed to her headphones. “What are you listening to? I don’t mean to be nosy, I’m just curious.”

“True crime podcast,” she answered in that odd monotone voice she had.

“Huh. We have a customer who’s really into true crime.” And might actually be a serial killer. “He likes to tell people about the cases.”

“Oh.”

She turned back to the sink.

She wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but at least she was a good baker.

“To each her own,” I mumbled to myself.

The cookies were cool enough to box up, so I grabbed a couple of to-go boxes and started packing them.

“What are those for?” she asked as she dried her hands.

“Oh, the SPS guys.”

“Who are they and why are they continually pacing around the block?”

Sugar cookies, how did I answer that question? I didn’t know Mila well enough to confide in her, and ‘my boyfriend thinks a killer might be after me and wants to make sure I’m never alone’ sounded… a little off.

“Well, they like to keep an eye on the squirrel population. I guess they’re focusing their efforts on our block for now.” I shrugged. “I don’t know, they’re super sweet, so I like it when they’re around.”

Her expression—or lack thereof—didn’t change, so I had no idea if that cleared anything up. “Oh.”

“It’s a Tilikum thing.”

She finally—finally—cracked a little smile. “I like this town.”

“Me too.”

The smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. “I hope my work was satisfactory today.”

“Yeah, it was great.” Satisfactory? She was so weirdly cute. “You’re doing a great job.”

She gave me a crisp nod. “I will see you tomorrow.”

“Have a nice evening, Mila.”

Closing the lids on the boxes, I took them out front. I only had to wait a few minutes before this afternoon’s SPS patrol members, Stan Albert and Russell Haven—apparently a distant Haven relative—appeared in the front window and came inside.

“Hello, gentlemen.” I went around the counter with the boxes. “I have a little something for you to thank you for your time.”

They each took a box. Stan opened his and his eyes widened. Russell brought his up to his nose and inhaled.