Elizabeth Lynn Casey - Southern Sewing Circle 08 - Remnants of Murder (13 page)

Before Tori could form a response, Leona moved on, the gradual change in volume indicating the woman’s full and undivided attention was back on Tori once again. “Anyway, I was thinking about what you said this morning. And I think I have a way that you can see all of your suspects in the same place at the same time.”

Tori sat up, pulling her knees to her chest as she did. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about all of the people who are beside themselves at the news of Clyde Montgomery’s passing, dear.”

“Tell me,” she urged.

Obviously aware of the coveted information she possessed, Leona’s voice took on an almost singsong quality. “Once a month, the Sweet Briar Business Association holds a breakfast meeting at the diner. Carter Johnson, bless his heart, cordons off that back room he has and tries to pretend he’s doing all of us a great favor by setting out a few breakfast platters and inviting us to eat. But as my sister will tell you, Carter’s eggs are runny and
shoe leather
has more flavor than his bacon.”

She felt the smile as it crept across her lips and was grateful for the momentary break in her mood. “Bacon? I thought you said bacon wasn’t good for a woman’s figure, Leona.”

“It’s not.”

“Then how would you know what Carter Johnson’s bacon tastes like?”

The hesitation was back, this time a bit longer than the first as, once again, it coincided with the sound of the phone being held to the side. “Paris, dear? Aunt Victoria is trying to bait your mama, but Mama is above such nonsense, isn’t she?” Then, to Tori, she said, “I listen when people talk, dear … which is yet
another
life lesson you could learn from me if you’d pay attention.”

Stifling the urge to laugh out loud, Tori took a deep breath instead. “I’m sorry, Leona. Please. Go on. About this breakfast meeting …”

A dramatic breath was followed by a second, and then a third. “Everyone who owns a business in town is there most months, unless someone is sick. The purpose of the meeting is supposed to be about brainstorming—you know, coming up with ways to entice people into our shops. Or to talk about some of the things storefront owners in other places are doing to reach new customers.”

“Makes sense. I do something similar online with a few dozen librarians across the country.”

“For every six meetings we have, maybe one actually births a good idea. Something we can do around the town square that helps us all. But most of the time, the hour is comprised of Bud sharing stories from the bar, and Carter and Bruce talking about their latest fishing trip with Robert.”

Tori couldn’t help but cringe at the conflict of interest that could come about if the police chief took her request seriously. Because if he did, and the autopsy determined Clyde had indeed been poisoned, two of the suspects on her list were the man’s fishing buddies. “So why do you go, Leona, if the food is so bad and nothing’s really accomplished in the first place?”

“Habit, I suppose.” Leona took what sounded like a sip of something and then released a dreamy sigh. “Did I mention that John Peter attends the meetings, as well?”

John Peter Hendricks owned Calamity Books, a small bookshop specializing in hard-to-find first editions of some of the literary world’s finest offerings. Like Leona, he ran his shop more out of a passion for his inventory than a need to bolster his financial standing. The man was a rabid reader, an interesting conversationalist, and approximately the same age as Leona …

“Wait. Since when have you ever been attracted to someone your own age, Leona?”

“Did I say I was attracted to him, dear?”

“Well, no, but I can hear it in your voice.”

“
He’s
attracted to
me
. Why else would those delightful dimples of his make an appearance every time I walk into a meeting?”

Delightful dimples?

“And why else would he make a point of sitting next to me every month? Especially when that puts him next to Shelby Jenkins, as well?” A series of tsks resonated in Tori’s ear. “Bless her heart, that poor woman actually brings him
candy
from her sweet shop like some pathetic waif.”

“Maybe she’s just trying to be nice.”

“Oh Victoria, tell me you’re not really that naïve. Women who bring little offerings to a man are looking for one thing and one thing only.”

She was almost afraid to ask but did anyway. “And what one thing is that, Leona?”

“To be noticed.”

“So what did you bring John Peter to make him seek you out each month?”

A gasp of horror zipped across the line, making Tori pull the phone from her face until the volume was more tolerable. “I don’t have to bring
anything
to get a man’s attention, Victoria. All a man has to do is look at me.”

She was grateful for the presence of the phone as it gave her a safety net when she rolled her eyes. Leona was a piece of work—a confident, if not completely full of herself, piece of work.

Then again, anyone capable of seeing two feet in front of their face knew reality backed up everything her friend was saying. Men of all ages
did
notice Leona. The woman could walk past a group of men on a street and, with a simple nod of her head, make them all turn in her direction.

It was a gift Tori didn’t possess.

Fortunately, the lack of whatever Leona possessed hadn’t mattered where Milo was concerned.

Milo.

She released her knees and let them drop back to the bed, the welcome reprieve that had been Leona’s call disintegrating right before her eyes.

“You can see for yourself if you come on Monday morning.”

“Monday?” she echoed.

“That’s the next business association meeting. It starts at seven o’clock.”

“But I can’t just waltz in there …”

“If it were a normal meeting, I’d have to agree. But since this appears as if it will be taking on more of a celebratory feel, I think it will be fine. Especially if you’re there as my guest.”

“What will they be celebrating?”

“You know those buzzards Margaret Louise is always referring to when something happens in this town?”

At the mere mention of Leona’s sister, Tori’s smile returned. “Yeah …”

“They’ve stopped circling and they’re coming in to eat.”

“Excuse me?”

“Clyde’s death, dear. It’s cause for celebration for many of my fellow shop owners. In fact, Shelby is even bringing a box of truffles for the occasion.”

She felt her stomach flip-flop. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh I can and I am.”

“Leona, that’s awful!”

“I suppose.” Leona’s voice grew hushed as she, once again, addressed the garden variety bunny who was surely twitching her nose from the safety of her owner’s lap. “I think we’ve played along with Victoria’s little game long enough now, don’t you, Paris?”

“Little game? What little—”

“Something happened with Milo before I called, didn’t it?”

She considered protesting, considered telling Leona she was off base, but it was no use. To do so would be an exercise in futility. Leona knew her. Knew her voice, knew her inflections, knew her better than she even knew herself at times.

“Yes.”

“He’s grown tired of you playing detective, hasn’t he?”

She swallowed. “Yes.”

“I could be the kind of friend who says, I told you so. I could be the kind of friend who reminds you of all the times I warned you this would happen. But I’m not that kind of friend, Victoria.”

“Gee, thanks, Leona.”

“I will also choose to be the kind of friend who ignores your sarcasm, dear, because you’re in pain. But it’s not a becoming quality. Not at all.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled as she stared back up at the ceiling.

“The most logical piece of advice I can offer is this: leave the Clyde Montgomery thing alone.”

“I can’t.”

“Because of Dixie?”

She considered her answer, shaping and tweaking it as reality saw fit. “Partly. But mostly because everything about his death adds up to murder in my book. How can I walk away from that?”

“Have you explained it that way to Milo?”

Had she?

“I think so.” But, deep down inside, she knew their issue was about more than just her interest in Clyde’s death. It was about their relationship and whether she truly wanted to marry him. She said as much to Leona.

“Well? Do you?”

“Do I what?” she asked.

“Do you want to marry Milo?”

Closing her eyes against the prick of tears that threatened to make a delayed encore, she searched for the steadiest voice she could find. “More than anything, Leona.”

Chapter 13

Tori maneuvered the grocery bags onto the kitchen
table and got straight to work making sandwiches, baking brownies, and washing fruit. It had been a long time since she and Milo had indulged in a picnic and she hoped the surprise would be a welcome one. They needed time together—time to talk, to laugh, to dream about their future, and to mend fences.

His fences.

Talking with Leona into the wee hours of the morning had made her realize something she’d failed to see prior to their talk. She’d been a lousy girlfriend as of late, her focus on everything but her relationship with Milo. It was important to be a good friend and a hard worker, but if she couldn’t find time for the man she was about to marry, he had every right to question her commitment.

All she could do now was hope she hadn’t pushed the envelope too far. She wanted to marry Milo, of that she had absolutely no doubt. But her actions, or lack thereof, could certainly give the opposite impression.

She hoped the surprise picnic she was putting together would be the first step in letting him know how she felt. And if it worked as she planned, she’d have Leona to thank for the notion of a peace offering, even if their respective definitions of that word couldn’t have been more different.

For Tori, a picnic was the perfect peace offering. For Leona, the perfect peace offering involved a very different kind of blanket and absolutely no food items except for those that came in a spray can.

“Victoria?”

She pulled her hand from the cabinet above the stove and spun around, her initial surprise morphing into happiness at the sight of Leona’s twin sister standing just inside the back door.

“Margaret Louise! I didn’t hear you come in. How are you?”

“I s’pose that’s why you jumped clear out of your skin, huh?” Margaret Louise made her way across the kitchen and peered into the mixing bowl on the counter. “Everyone loves the deer ’til it eats from the garden.”

“Excuse me?”

Hooking a finger over her shoulder, Margaret Louise shrugged. “Can’t count how many times you’ve told me I should just walk right in. But when I do, you jump like a nervous chicken.”

She laughed. “Do chickens really jump?”

The woman pointed her pudgy hand at the box of brownie mix to the side of the empty bowl. “If you needed some brownies, Victoria, all you had to do was ask. I’d have made ’em for you lickety-split.”

“And they’d probably taste a million times better than mine. But I want to make these ones by myself.”

“These ones?” Margaret Louise slowly turned atop her sensible Keds, her ever-present smile widening as the picnic basket Tori had commandeered from the crawl space came into view. “Ooooh, someone’s goin’ on a picnic.”

“That’s right. I’m surprising Milo with a picnic once I get all of this together.”

“Can I help?”

“I was, um, kinda wanting to put all of this together myself.” She finished pouring the required oil into a measuring cup, grateful for the diversion the task provided from having to see any disappointment on Margaret Louise’s face. “I’ve been kind of neglecting Milo lately and, well, it’s time to make things right.”

When the liquid reached the desired line on the cup, she transferred it to the bowl along with the mix from the box. “I want to be able to tell him that I put all of this together on my own … for him.” Once the egg was added along with the correct amount of water, she turned around and swept her hand toward the kitchen table. “But I’d love for you to stay and keep me company while I bake these. Seems like forever since we’ve had any real time together.”

Margaret Louise grinned and claimed a chair alongside the grocery bags Tori had yet to fully unpack. “There ain’t no flies on you, Victoria. Never is, if you ask me.”

She searched the utensil drawer for her favorite mixing spoon and began to stir the mix, the ingredients growing darker with each rotation of her hand. “Being busy isn’t an excuse for neglecting the people I love.”

“You ain’t been neglectin’ Dixie …”

She stopped stirring long enough to look a question in Margaret Louise’s direction.

“Don’t matter none, really. Lots of people love you, Victoria, and I understand that I can’t be the only one playin’ Ned to your Nancy, or Nora to your Nick.”

“Ned to my Nancy?”

Margaret Louise nodded, her gaze firmly planted on the mixing bowl. “Ned. Nancy Drew’s friend. Why, that boy was like a vault when it came to the things she told him. And Nora, why, she was funny and smart and helped her husband find the truth in
The Thin Man
.”