Death Threads (12 page)

“Of course.” A hearty laugh escaped Margaret Louise’s mouth as she, too, turned to look over the seat separating them from Leona. “What do you have in mind?”

“I’m thinking that perhaps your sister, here, can make a lace handkerchief for Ella May. It would be simple yet tasteful and more than a little appreciated . . . especially when Ella May learns how hard Leona worked on it.”

The smartly dressed woman in the backseat simply stuck out her tongue and shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to take the chance I’d ruin that portion of the famous tradition. It is, after all, supposed to be a perfect day for the bride.”

“Memorable,” corrected Margaret Louise as she reached for the door handle and pulled it up. “That’s a splendid idea, Victoria. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it myself.”

Following suit, Tori exited the car amid a string of protests from the one remaining occupant. “Think about it, Margaret Louise . . . long after Debbie’s cake and your meal have been eaten . . . long after the words of my poem have faded into a distant memory . . . Leona’s lace handkerchief will still be around . . . bringing such sweet joy to Ella May and Billy.”

“Perhaps she could even put a small patch right in the middle of the lace. Something that symbolizes the happy couple’s undyin’ love.” Margaret Louise didn’t even attempt to bite back her smile as Leona stepped from the car. “Or maybe somethin’ with special significance for the bride herself.”

Tori clapped her hands together. “That’s it, Margaret Louise! We could put a tiny bunny in the center of the fabric.”

“I am not amused. Not in the slightest.” Leona enunciated each syllable with the utmost clarity. “I believe an antique will be just—”

The sound of wood smacking wood make them all look up, the early evening sun temporarily blinding them. In simultaneous fashion, all three placed their hands over their eyes and looked toward the Victorian home that seemed more than a little ill-fitting among scads of bunny rabbits and countless placards boasting cutesy bunny sayings.

“It’s her,” Margaret Louise whispered from the side of her mouth. “It’s Ella May.”

“Well who else did you expect it to be?” Leona whispered back.

“We look ridiculous just standing here, ladies.” Inhaling deeply, Tori wrapped one hand around each woman’s upper arm and guided them forward until they were within speaking range of the woman who clamored down the front steps as quickly as possible, her body—decked out in a long dress with a tight fitting bodice and puffy floral sleeves—moving rapidly toward them. “Hi, Ella May!”

“Miss Sinclair. Ms. Elkin. Ms. Davis. Wh-what brings you by?” The woman looked down at her hands and then brushed them against the long skirt of her dress. “I-I wasn’t expecting company.”

She shot a glare at each of her friends, her initial reservation over the uninvited visit resurfacing with a vengeance. “We’re sorry we didn’t mean to—”

Margaret Louise stepped forward, her hand grabbing hold of Ella May’s and pumping it up and down. “We heard the news. About you and Billy. We just wanted to stop by and offer our congratulations. He sure is a lucky fella.”

Ella May blushed. “Thank you, but I’m the lucky one. I couldn’t be any more blessed.” Three small brown rabbits hopped across the dirt and gravel driveway and stopped at Ella May’s feet, their little noses twitching in delight. The woman bent down and rubbed each one behind the ears, her voice taking on a singsong quality as she continued. “If Billy were here, he’d thank you himself. But—”

Leona’s mouth twitched. “He’s not here? Oh, what a shame.”

Ella May reached into the pocket of her dress and extracted three tiny carrots, one for each bunny. “He’s preparing for some important meetings. He’s such a busy and important man that getting a few days for the ceremony and our honeymoon will take some doing.”

“We have a few gifts for you . . . gifts to make your wedding more special but”—Margaret Louise waved her hands wildly in the air—“it’s just so hot out here.”

Tori rolled her eyes as her friend’s motive became painfully clear. It wasn’t enough just to stick her nose in Ella May’s business, she wanted to stick her fanny smack-dab in the middle of it as well. “I have some water in the car,” she hissed.

“No you don’t,” Leona offered.

“Yes. I. Do.” As each word left her mouth, Tori supplemented it with a slight pinch on both women’s arms.

“Ow . . . what did you do that for?” Margaret Louise howled. “I just said it was hot—”

With a second pinch, Tori took charge of the conversation. “Ella May, we’d like to offer our congratulations and our help. To make your day as special as possible.”

Ella May looked up from her bunnies and smiled, a hint of a tear glistening in the corners of her eyes—a tear that tugged at Tori’s heart and made her silently curse her friends’ shallow motives. “That would be lovely.”

“I know my way around a library pretty well,” she offered, a lump forming in her throat at the notion she’d been coerced into playing along with Margaret Louise and Leona’s gossip-gathering mission. “If you like poetry, and you give me an idea of the kind of sentiment you’d like to highlight, I could find a handful of poems for you to use during the ceremony.”

Ella May squealed, a happy little sound that brought even more bunnies hopping in her direction. “Oh, Miss Sinclair, I would be honored.”

“Please, call me Tori—”

“Actually, it’s Victoria,” Leona drawled.

“Victoria? That’s such a lovely name. And yes, I’d be honored if you would find me some wonderful poetry . . . something that would celebrate the wonderful man who will share the rest of his life with me.”

Tori shifted from foot to foot, torn between the desire to let her shoulders fall in relief and smacking Leona in the back of the head. “I’m glad. Just give it some thought and let me know if you have any ideas or themes you want me to work around.”

“Ohhh. Ohhh. It’s so very, very hot out here,” Margaret Louise interjected with all the drama of an Oscar-winning actress. “I feel my legs getting just a bit wobbly. Perhaps

I could sit down somewhere? Like maybe your kitchen table or your living room?”

“We only have two more things to tell Ella May and then you can rest your wobbly legs in the car.” Tori changed the pinch to a grab, eliciting an even louder howl from her friend. “Go on, Margaret Louise, tell Ella May about your idea.”

With a rare scowl, Leona’s twin sister made a face at Tori before stepping forward, her sensibly clad feet kicking up a small dust cloud. “I don’t know if you know it or not, Ella May, but I enjoy cookin’.”

The woman reached into her pocket and extracted several more carrots, her fingers expertly wrapping around each one so as to feed more than one rabbit at a time. “Of course I know that. Your entries in the festival cook-offs are always the most delicious.”

Tori raised an eyebrow at Margaret Louise as she rested her hands atop her hips.

“Well bless your heart, Ella May. You’re just so sweet and good. Anyway I’d like to offer my services for your reception. You can even pick the menu.” Gesturing toward the house, she took another step forward. “We could sit down . . . right now . . . and bat around ideas.”

Ella May struggled to her feet, her hand shielding her eyes from the sun as she stood. “I don’t think—”

“Margaret Louise, the walk to the house is much longer than the one back to the car. You really must consider your wobbly legs.” Tori enunciated each word through clenched teeth, her hand finding her friend’s arm once again. “Besides, we have another stop to make . . . remember?”

“The offer to cook for us is very touching. I know Billy will be pleased as well.”

“Perhaps I could tell him myself . . .”

Tori’s hip shot to the side, striking Margaret Louise in the stomach. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I hit you?”

“Yes. You did.” Margaret Louise jutted her chin outward. “Why did you do that?”

“I had a cramp.” Tori gestured toward the one woman who stood off to the side, her gaze soaking up everything. “Leona? It’s your turn.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” Leona’s eyes skirted across the yard, her nose crinkling in disgust over the gaggle of bunnies that continued to swarm Ella May. “I was thinking that perhaps you’d like to stop by the store and—”

Tori cleared her throat, a sound echoed by Margaret Louise. “Now Leona, don’t be so shy. Tell Ella May about the present you’d like to make her . . . with your own two hands.”

“I-I . . .”

“My sister, she’s a modest one.” Margaret Louise’s mouth widened into a smile that rivaled the early evening sun. “What she’s tryin’ to say is that she’d like to make you somethin’ new for your weddin’.”

“Dear sweet sister,” Leona bit back, “I think it’s only natural that Ella May’s gown will be the something new . . .”

“Actually, my gown will be the something blue.”

“Blue?” Margaret Louise and Leona asked simultaneously—froth nearly forming at the corners of their mouths. “Have you been married before?”

Ella May shook her head as a dreamy look fell over her face. “No. I’ve been saving myself for just the right man—for my Billy.”

“Then why blue?” Leona asked as her eyes narrowed in distaste.

“Because I think Billy will like my eyes best in a blue gown.”

“Then that, right there, is a perfect reason.” Tori looked at Leona and smiled. “So, see . . . your idea will work just fine, Leona.”

“What idea?” Ella May asked.

“I-I—”

“My sister is learnin’ to sew. She’s workin’ most diligently at it, as a matter of fact . . .” Tori’s eyebrow rose once again as Margaret Louise continued to shovel on the lies. “And she would like to use this newly learned skill to make somethin’ for your special day. Somethin’ small you can tuck in a pocket or clutch.”

Ella May brought her hands together, a gesture that brought even more bunnies in their direction. “How wonderful. Thank you, Ms. Elkin.”

“Leona,” Tori corrected gently. “But she prefers to go by Lee.”

“No I—”

“Thank you, Lee. And thank you, too, Ms. Davis.”

Margaret Louise stepped forward, pulling Ella May against her full polyester-clad bosom. “Call me Margaret Louise. I think it’s high time we consider one another a friend, don’t you? The kind of friends that stop by and stay for a glass of sweet tea.”

“Would you look at the time?” Tori shoved her wrist in front of Margaret Louise’s face. “We’ve got to get out to Gabe’s before it gets too late. Besides, we’ve taken enough of Ella May’s time, don’t you think?”

“Well, no, not really. I think we’ve got plenty—”

Tori reached out, gently squeezed Ella May’s forearm with her hand, and offered the woman a genuine smile. “I am so happy for you and Billy. It sounds as if the two of you have something truly special.”

“We do. We really do. But you understand that, don’t you?”

“Of course. One only has to see the way your face lights up to know you have something special,” Tori said as she took her friends by the arms and turned toward the car.

“No, I mean you understand because you have the same thing . . . with Mr. Wentworth.”

She closed her eyes as Ella May’s words hit with a one-two punch to her stomach.

She rested her forehead against the cool glass and watched the moss trees whiz past her window as Margaret Louise piloted them down Route 54. All afternoon she’d managed to downplay thoughts of Milo as she focused her attention on Colby and Debbie. But now, after what Ella May had said, the heaviness in her heart re-emerged.

It wasn’t that she didn’t understand the disappointment the townspeople felt over the sudden change in their history, because she did. But disappointment aside, Colby had uncovered damning evidence that called into question a major piece of Sweet Briar history. How could that be his fault? Wouldn’t it have been worse for him to discover the truth and then tuck it under a bed somewhere in favor of upholding a lie?

“Is something wrong, Victoria?” Margaret Louise slowed the car as it approached the intersection of Route 54 and Pike Road, her voice suddenly void of the mischievousness she’d displayed since the start of their trip. “If I upset you by draggin’ you along to Ella May’s, I’m sorry. I truly am. I didn’t mean no harm. I just . . . well, I guess you could say I get a little tickled sometimes. And, Victoria, you have to understand we’ve been hearin’ about Ella May’s man for more years ’en Carter Johnson has been claimin’ he uses real eggs at the diner.”

She pulled away from the window and turned to look at her friend, the woman’s troubled eyes bringing a lump to her throat. “I wish I could say that’s all it is, but I can’t.”

“Did Nina put a cooking book in the American History section or a self-help book in with the mystery novels, dear?” Leona asked from the backseat.