Dangerous Alterations

For my readers.

 

Thank you.

One of my favorite parts of writing this book was the chance it gave me to reach out and solicit the expertise of some dear friends. Fortunately for me, they didn’t blink twice when I showed up in their inboxes asking about things like fire, murder, and sewing projects.

A huge thank-you goes to my Facebook friend Janet Armentani for answering my endless questions about various ways to poison a person.

An equally big thank-you goes to my fellow I-High grad and friend John Garizio. His experience as a firefighter proved priceless. Thanks also to his wife, Suzanne, who heard my cries for help and pointed me in John’s direction.

And last but not least, a special thank-you to my friend Lynn Deardorff, who unknowingly started my mind plotting when she shared a pattern for a pillow with me!

One by one, Tori Sinclair ran through the order once again …

Rub eyes.
Check
.

Blink fast.
Check
.

Pinch hard.
Check
.

Yet it made no difference. Dixie Dunn was, in fact,
smiling
.

At
her
.

The first part was a rare occurrence in and of itself. But the second part? The part about Dixie Dunn smiling at Tori? Well,
monumental
didn’t even come close to doing it justice. Especially since Dixie steadfastly believed her earlier-than-intended retirement was 150 percent Tori’s fault.

Her. Tori. The one Dixie was smiling at like the proverbial cat who’d swallowed the—

Tori glanced down at the floor and took note of the carpet beneath her predecessor’s feet, the absence of yellow feathers more surprising than she would have expected. She met the elderly woman’s gaze. “You’re twenty minutes early.”

The woman’s stout frame rose and fell, the smile never leaving her face. “I guess I’m just excited. It’s been a long time.” With a silent clap of her hands, Dixie stepped forward and motioned toward the shelves of books that stood like soldiers in formation. “I was up half the night thinking about the kind of changes we can make while I’m here.”

“Changes?”

“All the libraries are going that way.”

She swallowed. “All the libraries?”

“It’s meant to breathe life into the place and liven things up a little.”

Rub eyes.
Check
.

Blink fast.
Check

Pinch hard.
Check
.

Once again, Dixie was still there. Only this time the smile was parting to allow foreign gibberish to flow between her pencil-thin lips.
Dixie
. Dixie
Dunn
. The same person who had waged a one-woman war against change at the library less than two years earlier.

It was a battle that had ultimately resulted in Dixie being forced to retire—and Tori being hired—as head librarian. Hence, the more-than-a-little-unsettling smile’s effect on Tori.

“Things?” Tori repeated. “What kind of things?”

Dixie nodded, her voice a perfect accompaniment to the unmistakable sparkle in her eye. “First, there’s the matter of chairs.” With a beckoning gesture, Dixie turned on her sensible white pumps and led the way to one of the reading nooks Tori had created shortly after taking the library helm. The high-back armchairs had been found at a consignment shop for a ridiculously low sum, making it easier than expected to replace Dixie’s wooden chairs.

“They’ve already been replaced.”

“I see that,” Dixie mused. “But I think we can make them even more inviting.”

She stared at the woman, unable to think of a single thing to say.

“We want our patrons to feel comfortable here, don’t we, Victoria?”

“Comfortable?”

Dixie nodded. “Of course. That’s what all the up-and-coming libraries are doing these days, isn’t it?”

“Up-and-coming?”

“The more homey the better, I say.”

“H-homey?” She knew she sounded like a squawking parrot but she couldn’t stop herself. Dixie Dunn wanted to enter the age of progress?

“In fact, I think we should talk to the board about opening a little coffee kiosk over there in the corner.” Dixie gestured for Tori to follow, and, once again, she did. “It wouldn’t have to be anything terribly elaborate just—”

“A
coffee
kiosk?”

Again, the woman nodded. “It’s the wave of the future.”

Tori stopped in her tracks, folding her arms in the process. “Okay. Enough. Who put you up to this?” Periscoping her head from side to side, she strained to make out Margaret Louise Davis’s graying hair and plump form in the mystery section. Or her always-stylish twin sister, Leona Elkin, smirking in periodicals. Or even Rose Winters, in her telltale cotton sweater and penny loafers, glaring at Leona from the local history aisle.

Rose.

A quick check of the wall clock put her morning in perspective. If there was a hidden camera lurking for the sole purpose of recording her reaction to the woman formerly known as Dixie Dunn, its location would have to wait.

“Look, can we pick this back up later? After Rose’s appointment?” At Dixie’s nod, Tori turned and made her way over to the information desk in the center of the library’s main room. “There are no groups scheduled today, and no story time until tomorrow. So between that and the pool weather we’re having right now, I imagine things should be fairly quiet while I’m gone.”

Dixie’s smile slipped momentarily only to return on the heels of a shrug. “That’s okay. Quiet will give me time to make some adjustments.”

“What kind of adjustments?”

The elderly woman pointed at the clock. “You better get going. You want to be there when Rose starts her treatment, don’t you?”

Tori’s eyes followed the path made by Dixie’s finger, and she cringed. “Okay, you’re right. I’ve got to go. But, Dixie”—she reached down, pulled her purse and tote bag from its spot on the bottom shelf, then straightened to meet the woman’s eye—“why don’t you hold off on any changes until I get back? It’ll give us a chance to, um … brainstorm a little first.”

Dixie flipped her hands over and shooed Tori down the long hallway that led to the rear parking lot. “Don’t you worry about a thing, Victoria. I was running this library long before you were even a twinkle in your daddy’s eye.”

And just like that, the shooing morphed into something much closer to shoving. “Perhaps you could take Rose out for coffee or even lunch after her appointment.” Dixie cocked her head to the side in consideration of her own suggestion. “Come to think of it, I think that might be just what the doctor would order after having to be hooked up to that drip pole again.”

“But I need to get back here—”

Yanking the employee door open, Dixie all but pushed Tori into the wall of humidity known as a South Carolina summer day. “Give Rose a kiss for me. And I’ll see you this afternoon. Much,
much
later this afternoon.”

Before Tori could formulate a coherent protest or last-minute plea, Dixie had shut and locked the glass-plated door, her slightly hunched form fairly skipping down the hall and back toward the main room.

With her unease at an all-time high, Tori turned to see a powder blue station wagon veer around the corner and screech to a stop less than six inches from her feet. A familiar face peered across the front seat. “Thank heavens you ain’t left yet. Why, I nearly got me a ticket tryin’ to get here in time.” Reaching across the seat, Margaret Louise Davis unlocked the door, plucked her tote bag off the passenger seat, and threw it into the back. “Hop in.”

“You want to go with us?”

“Got nothin’ better to do today. Melissa took the youngins to see her folks, Debbie’s got things covered at the bakery, and Leona took Paris to get his tail fluffed.”

“Your sister took Paris to get his tail fluffed?”

“And this surprises you?”

She couldn’t help but laugh as an image of her self-appointed southern coach—emerging from a beauty shop with a perfectly coiffed garden-variety bunny in her arms—filled her mind. “Actually, no. It doesn’t.”

“Well then you understand why I’m bored.”

Poking her head through the open window, Tori studied her friend. “All we’re going to be doing is sitting there for two or three hours while Rose gets her IV drip. It’s really not all that exciting.”

“You’re gonna be there, right?”

Tori nodded.

“And Rose is gonna be there, right?”

Again, she nodded.

“That’s good enough for me. And besides, I’ve got something to talk ’bout with the two of you once we get Rose settled. Now get in.”

Tori finally did as she was told, the tension caused by Dixie’s odd behavior dissipating at the thought of spending the morning with two of her dearest friends—women who were some thirty- and fifty-odd years her senior yet as close to her as anyone her own age could ever be. And it was all because of a common love of sewing.

A love that, for Tori, had been passed down from her late great grandmother and then restoked by Rose Winters and the rest of the members of the Sweet Briar Ladies Society Sewing Circle.

Margaret Louise stepped down on the gas, showering the back parking lot with a cloud of dirt. “Woo-wee, it’s a hot one today, ain’t it?”

Dropping her tote bag and purse onto the floor, Tori grabbed her seat belt and clicked it into place. “And that’s different than yesterday because …”

Margaret Louise’s deep belly laugh echoed around the car. “It’s a good thing Leona didn’t hear you say that or else we’d be listenin’ to her spoutin’ crime statistics ’bout Chicago.”

And it was true. Ever since Tori had moved to Sweet Briar, she’d been subjected to Leona Elkin’s endless sales pitch on life in a small town—friendlier people, charming shops, and less crime. Though, considering the way Leona lamented the joys of traveling to such cities as Paris, London, and New York—citing their fine cuisine and vast cultural amenities every chance she got—one had to wonder if there was more to the story.

Tori leaned her head against the passenger-side window and watched the trees whiz by en route to the outpatient treatment facility on the western edge of town. “At least you know what you’re getting from Leona. Dixie, on the other hand, is a complete mystery to me.”

“Dixie? Dixie Dunn? Are you pullin’ my leg? That woman is ’bout as predictable as Sally when it’s time to take a swallow of medicine.”

Turning her head, she studied the proud grandmother of seven behind the steering wheel. “Little Sally is predictable, I’ll give you that. But Dixie? Not even close.”

Margaret Louise met her gaze. “You feelin’ okay, Victoria?”

She nodded. “I’m feeling fine. But my nerves? That’s another story.”

A knowing smile spread across Margaret Louise’s rounded face. “Still frettin’ over Milo’s proposal?”

Tori blew a pent-up whoosh of air from her lungs. “Not really. Not any more than normal, anyway.”

“You should just say yes.”

Oh, how she wished she could. She wanted to. More than anything. But she was afraid.

“I bet that man is missin’ you somethin’ fierce right now.”

As she was him.

Milo Wentworth was everything she’d ever dreamed about and nothing she’d ever thought she’d find. Especially after the catastrophe that was her former fiancé, Jeff. In fact, at times, it was almost hard to remember ever having loved the man who’d celebrated their engagement party in a coat closet … with one of Tori’s own girlfriends. Yet, at other times, the pain and humiliation was still so fresh it made her second-guess her own judgment.

Sure, she wanted to marry Milo—more than anything else in the world, actually. But to accept his proposal meant exhibiting a measure of courage she was having trouble finding where her heart and an engagement ring were concerned.

“I miss Milo, there’s no doubt about that. But the nerves aren’t about him. They’re about Dixie and what she’s planning to do to the library while I’m gone.”

“Oh.
That
.”

She stared at her friend. “What? You know about these changes?”

Margaret Louise waved her hand. “She wants to set up a coffeepot and stick a few pillows on some chairs.”

“Am I the only one who sees the irony in this coffeepot suggestion?”

“She’s different now.”

“How?”

Letting up on the gas just a little, Margaret Louise turned into the driveway just beyond the main hospital. “She has hope. Nina going on bed rest has given her hope.”

“But—”

“And a second chance of sorts.”

Ahhh. It made sense now. She said as much to Margaret Louise.

“That’s all this is, Victoria. Dixie is tryin’ to show everyone that she still has some spunk left in her.”

Tori unfastened her seat belt as the station wagon came to a stop. “You mean like the spunk she showed when she lambasted me for allowing patrons to drink coffee in the library shortly after I got here?”