Deadly Notions (26 page)

“I know. So go. I’ll be fine. I—I’ve got plans for tonight anyway.”

It was a lie and she knew it, especially considering she hadn’t actually called Leona or even considered it until just that moment. But it was all she could think to say to keep from crumbling right there on the park bench.

“Oh. Okay. Well, have fun.” He took a step toward the gate then stopped. “You have off tomorrow, too, right?”

She forced a smile to her lips. “I do.”

“Any chance I can see you after school lets out?”

“Let me see how I’m doing on the circle’s project.”

For a moment he simply studied her, his eyes depicting a mixture of sadness and disappointment the likes of which nearly broke her heart. When she didn’t stand, didn’t promise to work as fast as she could, he turned and walked away, his feet leading him toward the damsel who believed distress was a game—a game Milo was too sweet and too blind to realize he was playing.

She knew she’d get a lecture. It was as much a certainty as the notion that a library had books or a school had students.

And she didn’t care. In fact, if Tori was honest with herself, she
welcomed
it. Even
needed
it.

“Leona, can I ask you something?”

Pausing her wine goblet halfway to her mouth, Leona nodded. “Of course. That’s why we’re having dinner together, isn’t it? So you can learn from my expertise in life?”

Her cheeks rose along with her smile. “Actually, we’re having dinner because you’re my friend and I thought it would be fun to spend a little time together outside our weekly sewing circle meeting.”

Leona took a sip of her wine then set the glass back on the linen tablecloth. “Do you think I just fell off one of those turnip trucks Margaret Louise is always glorifying?”

She stared at her friend. “Turnip trucks?”

“You didn’t suggest dinner because you wanted to spend time with me, you suggested it so you wouldn’t have to sit home alone—again—worrying about what Milo is doing with that little relationship wrecker he has living under his roof.”

All attempts at a half-hearted protest died before they reached her lips. “How did you know?” she finally asked.

“Because I know you, dear.”

Blowing a strand of hair from her face, Tori leaned back against her chair, her fingers finding the stem of her own glass and giving it a gentle twirl. “Then what should I do? I tried to make him see what she’s doing but he refuses to accept it. He simply doesn’t believe that someone he once cared about is a—is a—”

“Conniving little hussy?”

She had to laugh at Leona’s description. “Yeah, okay, though I’m not sure I’d have chosen those same words.”

“Well, that’s the difference between you and me, dear. I call a spade a spade when necessary.”

“That doesn’t sound like a very belle thing to do.”

“When a belle’s man is being manipulated, it most certainly does.”

“Oh.” She pulled the bread bowl closer to her spot and considered its various options. After a quick once-over she selected a pumpernickel roll.

“That, dear, is going straight to your thighs.”

Her hand stilled mid-tear. “It’s bread, Leona.”

“And, eventually, it will end up on your thighs as cellulite. So, too, will that steak you ordered with the cactus butter glaze.” Leona sighed dramatically. “And don’t get me started about the chocolate concoction we both know you’re going to try and order when dinner is over.”

She swallowed back the futile attempt at denial. “Come on, Leona, look at me.” She pointed at the part of her body visible over the top of the table. “I’m a long way away from being worried about my weight.”

Leona nodded, her eyes following Tori’s hand as she lifted a piece of bread to her lips. “I remember when my sister used to say that same thing.”

Tori dropped the bread onto the plate. “Margaret Louise is beautiful.”

“If you can discount all that—extra weight.”

“Leona!”

“Don’t shoot the messenger, dear.”

Tori stared at the piece of bread on her plate, her mind warring with the need to drown her sorrows in yeast and the desire to be proactive with her health. In the end the yeast won out despite the rise in Leona’s eyebrow. “I’m sorry, I need it. It’s been a long day.”

The waitress stopped beside their table and doled out the correct plates—steak for Tori, a grilled chicken salad for Leona. After checking to make sure they had what they needed, she disappeared once again, leaving them to the conversation at hand.

“So what do I do? He isn’t ready to listen.” She guided her knife through the steak, the sight of the melting cactus butter making her mouth water. “Oh, this looks really, really good, doesn’t it?”

Leona rolled her eyes skyward. “I’ve already voiced my opinion on your order. As for Milo, there’s only one thing to do, dear.”

She took a bite of steak, savoring the taste as it slid down her throat. “What’s that? Scratch Beth’s eyes out?”

Leona stopped picking at her salad long enough to level an exasperated look in Tori’s direction. “Let’s leave the eye scratching to that little hussy, shall we?”

She paused mid-chew. “Then what do you propose?”

“First? That you don’t speak with your mouth full.”

Tori felt her face warm.

“Second? You don’t let her win.”

“What am I supposed to do? Lock Milo in a closet every time she calls with another dilemma?

Leona narrowed her eyes. “That could work . . .”

“Leona! I’m not going to force Milo to do anything.”

“You’re right. Let’s save that for our last resort.” Leona grazed the top of her lettuce with the fork as she hunted for yet another piece of chicken among a sea of green. “I was thinking more along the lines of going
with
him when she tries her little games.”

“Oh, like she’s going to be happy about that.”

“Exactly.”

She studied her friend closely. “I don’t get—wait! I get it now! I accompany him back to the scene of the exaggerated fire, he looks around, sees everything is fine, and then we resume our time together.”

“And she’s been defeated.”

Dropping her fork onto her plate, she pushed the half-eaten steak to the side. “You think that’ll work?”

Leona’s silk-clad shoulders rose and fell. “I don’t know. Time will tell. But at least you’ll be together which is what you want, isn’t it, dear?”

“It is.”

“Then we have a plan.” Leona made a second pass through her salad only to find a piece of chicken no bigger than her fingernail.

“That wouldn’t happen if you’d simply order a chicken entrée, Leona.” She laughed at the anticipated eye roll then leaned forward. “He asked if I wanted to come see him tomorrow after school.”

“What did you say?”

“My heart was talking at the time and it said I wasn’t sure.”

Leona pushed her salad bowl to the side in time to pluck a dessert menu from the arms of a passing waiter. Flipping it over, she pushed her glasses higher on her nose and scanned the list of sweets. “Sounds like you almost offered Milo to Beth on a silver platter.”

“Almost?”

“Of course. But since you first uttered those foolish words you’ve had the good fortune of speaking with me. Which means you now realize the error of your ways and you will be waiting on his couch when he arrives home. Preferably in something that will make him forget all about that little hussy.” Leona waved their waitress over to the table. Pointing from the menu to Tori, she lowered her voice to a near whisper. “She’ll take the Triple Chocolate Overload.”

“Leona! I thought you said—”

“Hush, dear. Cellulite worries must, occasionally, take a backseat to jump-starting the libido.”

She was almost done with the tomato when the first reinforcement shuffled up the sidewalk.

“Good morning, Rose.”

“It may be morning to you, Victoria, but to an old fart like myself it seems like late afternoon.”

Her hand stilled above the red felt. “Why?”

“Because I’ve been up since the crack of dawn. Been that way since I hit seventy.” Rose grabbed hold of the railing and hoisted herself up the three stairs to Tori’s front porch. “Just goes to show you how delusional I was in my youth when I used to dream of retirement.”

“I don’t get it.” She pulled the felt to her chest and stood. “Here, why don’t you take the rocking chair and I’ll move over to the swing.”

“Thank you, Victoria.” Rose patted her hand then lowered herself to the slatted wooden rocker. “That last year before I quit teaching? I used to imagine being able to wake to the sound of birds instead of an alarm clock buzzing in my ear.”

“That’s one of my favorite parts of having a day off.” Tori sat down on the porch swing and repositioned her latest sewing project in her lap, her hand resuming its blanket stitch without so much as a passing thought. “It’s almost magical.”

“Enjoy it now while you can. Because in about forty years you’ll be woken up by something much more persistent than a chirping bird.”

She pulled the strand of red thread through the underside of the tomato then looped it around the outside once again. “And what’s that?”

“Your bladder.”

“Ahhh.” She looked up from the nearly complete condiment. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Rose tugged her tote bag onto her lap and reached inside, her pale white hand returning with a piece of purple. Holding it up, she cocked her head toward the nondescript rectangle. “I figured a peanut butter sandwich should have an option of jelly, don’t you think?”

She smiled. “Absolutely.”

“And I brought a pale yellow color to make a few pats of butter for Dixie’s pancakes.” Rose reached into her bag once again, this time pulling out a bundle of deep purple embroidery floss. “Now, Victoria, the bladder isn’t the only thing you need to look out for when you get old.”

“Oh no?

“There’s the forgetfulness, the aches and pains in your joints, and the desire to talk about food all the time.”

She dropped the tomato onto the table beside the swing and began working on the slice of cheese that was next on her list. “I remember that about my great-grandmother. Whenever she and my great-grandfather used to go somewhere, the food was always the part she talked about. Not the people they saw, not the things they did. Just vivid details about every single food item they saw—whether they actually ate it or not.”

“I know. And I swore I wouldn’t do it, but I do. It’s part of the reason our sewing circle has so much food. Gives Dixie and me something to talk about for the next week.”

Tori guided the scissors through the fabric then looked up. “I notice you didn’t include Leona in that statement.”

Rose waved her hands above the jelly taking shape on her lap. “Leona’s not old yet. She’s still got a good ten years to go before she’s trembling and coughing and shuffling around like me. But don’t you tell her I said that, you hear? Half the fun of sewing circle is watching little Miss Perfectly Poised get a little red in the face.”

“Little Miss Perfectly Poised?”

“That’s one of my nicer names for Leona.” Rose set her jelly off to the side before reaching inside her bag for the piece of pale yellow felt and its coordinating embroidery floss. With deft fingers she separated the floss into three strands. “Good heavens, I couldn’t believe the way she went at you about Milo and that woman during the last meeting. It’s like she can’t even fathom the notion of a woman being secure without a man.”

“I don’t think it’s that so much as it is the simple fact she knows he means a lot to me.”

“We
all
know that, Victoria.” Rose pushed her toes against the ground as her chair began to slow, her normally trembling hands surprisingly accomplished with a needle and thread. “We also all know you’re a genuine treasure. If Milo Wentworth allows himself to get sidetracked from that fact, then good riddance.”