Death Threads (10 page)

“More than people?”

“More than people,” he confirmed as he hoisted a bright red apple to his lips and clamped his teeth down.

She looked down at her own food—at the sandwich with little more than a bite taken out, at the untouched apple, at the still wrapped candy bar Milo had included specifically for her sweet tooth—and felt her stomach churn with repulsion. The overwhelming hunger she’d experienced when he first walked through the door twenty minutes earlier was nowhere to be found, a casualty of the worry and fear she couldn’t seem to shake.

“I’m sorry, Milo.” She set her sandwich back in the paper wrapper, sealed it shut, and then returned it to her own sack along with the apple and candy bar. “This was such a sweet idea, it really was. But”—she stopped, swallowed, and tried again—“I just can’t get Debbie’s face out of my mind.”

Tossing his half-eaten apple into the bag, Milo scooted over on the sidewalk, draping his arm across her shoulder as he drew closer. “I’m glad she had you with her. I’m sure that was a comfort.”

“Her husband is gone.” She swallowed again as she rested her head in the crook of his shoulder. “I’m not sure what can comfort something like that.”

“Colby may be a soft-spoken guy, he may spend a large amount of his time behind a computer, but that guy is in shape. He’s not going down without a fight.”

She closed her eyes against the image of the bedroom he shared with his wife, a bedroom that backed up Milo’s words to a point. But in the end, Colby Calhoun was still missing. And there were still blood smears on the wall and droplets across the kitchen floor. She said as much to Milo.

“So maybe you’re right. Maybe he lost the fight. I don’t know. But whoever did it didn’t think things through very well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the town’s image is still destroyed. There’s no way to get Colby to recant his story if he’s dead.”

“Recant his . . . wait.” She pushed off the wall and swiveled her body so she could meet Milo’s eyes. “You think whoever did this should have had him recant his article before killing him?”

He shrugged. “If they were thinking they would have.”

“You almost sound as if you think that’s the bigger issue here. That the town’s image is more important than a man’s life.”

“No. Killing a man is wrong under any circumstances. And justice must be served. But finding the culprit in this equation is going to be mighty difficult.”

“Why?”

“Because Colby set himself up as a target for a whole lot of folks. In fact, I’d be willing to say the list of people who despise Colby Calhoun after Sunday’s article is far longer than the list of people who don’t.”

She felt her mouth drop open. “You can’t be serious?”

“Oh yes I can.” Pushing off the ground, he gathered up their paper sacks and tossed them into a nearby trash can before reaching for her hand. “C’mon, let’s take a little walk.”

“I can’t. Nina needs me,” she said as she flashed an apologetic smile. “Besides my lunch break is—”

“Still in full swing.” He turned his wrist so she could see the face of his watch. “We’ve only been out here for less than twenty-five minutes. You take forty-five, don’t you?”

“I do, normally. But I’ve been worthless so far today.

Between my too-long conversation with Leona this morning and the funk I’ve been in since I got here, I really need to step it up.”

“And you will. When your break is over.” He closed his hand over top of hers and gently tugged her down the stone steps of the library. “We won’t go far, just around the building a few times. It’ll give you a chance to vent some of this stuff out.”

“Remind me what I did to deserve you?” she asked as she fell in step beside him, the warmth of the sun permeating her body and chasing away the chill she’d harbored all morning.

“You stole my question.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it gently, his eyes looking down at her with a mixture of admiration and worry. “So what do you want to do about all this?”

“Do?”

“I haven’t known you long Tori Sinclair, but I’ve known you long enough to know you can’t sit idly by while your friends are hurting.”

He was right. She couldn’t. “I want to find Colby. Give Debbie and the kids some closure. It’s hard to say good-bye when there is no body to bury.”

“You’re that sure he’s dead?”

“I saw the blood, Milo.”

For a moment he said nothing, his silence doing little to quiet the tension in her body. “And if you’re right . . . and he really is dead . . . don’t you think Chief Dallas is trying to find his body, too?”

She lifted her shoulders into the air and let them slide back down. “I suppose. But he’s only one person and he’s . . .” She stopped, considered the impact of her words on the man walking beside her, a man who claimed Sweet Briar as his birthplace as well. “Well, he can only be in so many places at one time. And if the suspect list is as big as you insinuated it could be, it might be difficult for him to cull through in quick fashion.”

“What aren’t you saying, Tori?”

“I-I guess I’m just worried how the whole loyalty thing is going to play into the investigation.” There, she said it. Inhaling slowly, she steeled herself for an argument that didn’t come.

“Chief Dallas is a fair man. He may have spent the bulk of his life in this town but he also takes his job very seriously. He won’t leave a single stone unturned in this investigation.”

“But isn’t it possible he might be a little hesitant in the stones he chooses to look under first?” She knew she was running the risk of offending him, but she simply couldn’t leave the fears in her head unspoken. Not for anyone, including Milo Wentworth.

“I suppose. I mean, I know he’s one of Carter Johnson’s poker buddies and I know he goes fishing with Dirk Rogers every spring.”

“See? That’s all I’m worried about.” She stopped, replayed his last sentence in her mind. “Wait. You think Carter and Dirk could be legitimate suspects in Colby’s disappearance?”

They rounded the backside of the library, their feet leaving grass as they stepped onto the asphalt of the parking lot and continued walking. “I know Dirk was piping mad at the festival and you said Carter Johnson—”

“Threatened Colby with a rifle . . . you’re right.” She took stock of the near-empty parking lot, mentally calculating how many customers had left since she went on break. Milo was right, Nina would be fine for the remaining five or so minutes she had. “And then there’s whoever wrote that letter, right? Assuming, of course, it wasn’t written by Dirk or Carter.”

“I doubt Dirk has ever seen a piece of stationery let alone written on one, so . . . although I’m no police detective . . . I think he can be ruled out as the author for now.” They rounded the far side of the brick structure, their feet returning to grass and the occasional piece of scattered pine straw that served as landscape material around the moss trees that graced the grounds of the hundred-year-old building. “But, Tori, there are a lot of people in this town who are furious at Colby right now. Essentially everyone who calls Sweet Briar home could be a suspect.”

“Except you, of course.” The second the words were out of her mouth she could feel him stiffen beside her. Stopping, midstep, she tugged his hand until they were face to face. “Hey, I was only kidding.”

“I guess.” He ran his free hand through his burnished brown hair, leaving the top more than a little disheveled as he let a burst of air escape his lips. “Tori, I have to tell you that I’m not real happy with Colby right now either. He questioned my teaching in that article.”

“He didn’t call you out by name,” she protested.

“He didn’t have to. He said this supposed lie was taught in the classroom. Don’t you see that statement calls all of the teachers at Sweet Briar Elementary liars?”

She stared at him, unsure of what to say in response to his growing anger.

“He had no right to do that, Tori.”

She heard herself gasp, saw the hurt in his eyes as she removed her hand from his. “But if it’s true . . .”

“What? That I’m a liar?” he asked through teeth that were suddenly clenched.

“I didn’t say that!”

“You implied it. I mean, if the article is true—and I’m not saying it is—then that’s what I am, isn’t it?” He looked off into the distance, his jaw tight with anger. “C’mon, Tori . . . don’t you find it even the slightest bit odd that we’re just now hearing moonshine was to blame for the fire that leveled this town? Don’t you think that would have leaked out along the way sometime over the past century or so?”

“Maybe.” She pulled her hand to her face to shield the sun from her eyes as she absently watched an elderly man cross the grounds en route to the front door. “But if you were responsible for the mistake that destroyed a town, wouldn’t you want to keep it hush-hush, too?”

“Drunks talk, Tori.”

She met Milo’s eyes once again, a sadness creeping over her body. “Just because someone makes moonshine doesn’t mean he’s a drunk. And just as some alcoholics have been known to talk, others have been known to be fiercely protective and more than a little cagey.”

“That’s a long line of cagey drunks then.”

Realizing they weren’t going to get anywhere on the topic at hand, she took a step backward and gestured toward the door. “I really better get back inside. It’s time for Nina to take her lunch break.”

She felt the wariness of his stare as she turned and headed toward the building. After a few feet she looked back over her shoulder and waved. “Thanks for lunch, it was very sweet.”

Slowly, she climbed the same stone stairs she’d descended not more than ten minutes earlier, her hand now empty and her heart weighing heavily under a sadness she hadn’t expected. Sure, all relationships hit their fair share of hurdles along the way, but this wasn’t about a difference of opinion over what movie to see or whether floral curtains were too feminine. No, this one went much deeper—to a very basic belief system of what was right and what was wrong. And the realization that Milo Wentworth couldn’t differentiate between the two when his pride was part of the equation.

As she pulled on the outer doors and walked into the branch’s main room, Tori couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. In less than six months, Sweet Briar Public Library had become just as much her home as the tiny two bedroom cottage she rented. Here, she could be herself—a person who enjoyed sharing her love of books with people of all ages.

But at that moment it was more than just the love of books that brought her comfort. It was the knowledge that she was surrounded by truth, something she desperately needed.

“How was your lunch, Miss Sinclair?” Nina looked up from her place behind the information desk and flashed a quick, yet shy smile. “I sure wish Duwayne would show up out of the blue and bring me a picnic lunch one day.”

“He sent you flowers just last week, didn’t he?” she reminded, infusing as much cheer into her voice as possible. “I think that ranks right up there with a picnic lunch.”

A slow blush worked its way up her assistant’s neck as she covered her face with long dark fingers. “You’re right.”

“Now get out of here and get some lunch yourself.” Tori looked around, mentally registered each patron scattered around the room. “Everything been okay?”

Nina nodded. “I’ll take a short one.”

“No, take your full break. It’s gorgeous outside today.”

She leaned against the counter as Nina retrieved her purse and headed toward the same door from which Tori, herself, had just come. There were so many thoughts swirling around in her head, thoughts she should set aside in favor of work. But she knew it was futile. She wasn’t built that way. Never had been. Never would be.

When there was a problem at hand she needed to work through it—slowly, methodically. She wouldn’t have any peace until she did.

The key, though, was where to start. Milo was right. Dirk Rogers and Carter Johnson were certainly worth exploring, especially in light of their friendship with the Sweet Briar police chief. But they were by no means the only two people in town who took offense to Colby’s column.

There was Rose . . .

There was Georgina, the mayor of Sweet Briar . . .

And there was Milo—

She shook her head, willed her mind to skip forward to viable suspects—the kind of people who guarded Sweet Briar’s history like it was the single largest piece of gold in the world. The kind of people who would take a secret to their grave if need be.

Clapping her right hand over her mouth, Tori grabbed the edge of the counter with her left.

“A secret of monumental proportions,” she muttered under her breath as she reached for the phone and punched in Margaret Louise’s phone number.

“Hello?”

“Margaret Louise, it’s Tori . . . I mean, Victoria.”

“I knew that before you finished my name. You have a cute twangy way of sayin’
Louise
.”

“I have a
twangy
way?” She tried not to laugh too loud as she held the phone to her ear and peered around the room. “Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?”

“Do I speak with a twang?”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed—a quick sound that brought more than a few looks as she soaked in the absurdity of the question and the sincerity with which it was spoken, the amusing exchange doing more to lighten her mood than anything else since Leona took off in search of a picket fence to hang over.

“Never mind. How’s the recipe going?”

A long deep sigh filled her ear followed by something that sounded an awful lot like a cluck. “It’s not. I’m tryin’ to give it a uniquely southern twist and everything I come up with seems so, well, simple. Blah. I want to shake it up a little.”

“You’ll find it. Give it time.”