Elizabeth Lynn Casey - Southern Sewing Circle 08 - Remnants of Murder (14 page)

Tori spooned the batter into the waiting brownie pan and made sure to spread it around evenly. “No, I know who Ned and Nora are in relation to their respective sleuths, but I don’t understand why you brought them up.”

“Because you’re usin’ a different Nora.” Margaret Louise pointed at the cabinet above Tori’s head. “You got any white chocolate on your bakin’ shelf, Victoria?”

“Uh …” She forced herself to shift conversational direction even though her thoughts were still on her friend’s nod to some of Tori’s favorite mysteries. “I think so. Why?”

“Makes a nice drizzle on top of brownies when they first come out of the oven.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Sounds like something Milo would love.” She opened the oven door and slid the pan into the preheated oven. When the door was shut, she set the timer for thirty minutes. “I’m still lost on the other part, though. The part about Ned and Nora.”

“Don’t mind me none, Victoria. Even Melissa thinks I’m bein’ overly sensitive.”

She reached into the grocery bag, only to pull her empty hand out just as quickly. “Margaret Louise, I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“Your new case. The one you’re workin’ on with Dixie.” Margaret Louise reached into the bag, plucked out the apples and grapes, and handed them to Tori. “I believe you were lookin’ for these.”

Tori nodded.

“Why, I must admit, I was a little surprised when Leona told me Dixie was ridin’ shotgun this time, but I s’pose we need to take turns with these sorts of things.” Then, leaning forward, Margaret Louise lowered her voice. “But, Victoria? Dixie ain’t always quiet. Sometimes, when you least expect it, all them beans she insists on eatin’ every night show back up at the worst times.”

Holding the grapes in her left hand and the apple bag in her right, Tori stepped backward, the image her friend had created in her mind making her laugh out loud. “That was probably more information about Dixie than I really needed, but thanks.”

“Seems that might be somethin’ you need to know if you’re goin’ to be sneakin’ ’round tryin’ to catch a killer with Dixie by your side.”

Ahhhh …

“I didn’t choose Dixie as my accomplice in this whole Clyde Montgomery thing.
She
picked
me
.”

Relief sagged Margaret Louise’s shoulders. “I should’ve known you can’t tell the size of the turnips by lookin’ at their tops.”

Tori set the fruit beside the sink, set a colander in its base, and turned on the faucet. Apple by apple and grape bunch by grape bunch, she washed her way through both bags. When she was done, she set them aside to air dry before housing them in the large cooler she’d soon fill with ice packs from the freezer. “Dixie asked for my help. At first, I thought she was wrong. Clyde was ninety-one. But then I changed my mind. I think there’s a strong chance his death was helped along.”

“Helped along by what?”

“Arsenic.”

If Margaret Louise was surprised, she didn’t let on. Instead, she jumped on board with Tori’s theory as if it was not only plausible but probable. “Lots of ways someone can get that into their system.”

“Which is why my list of potential suspects is as long as it is,” Tori mused. “There’s an awful lot of people in this town who had motive to want to see Clyde dead.”

“Leona told me she’s takin’ you to the business meetin’ with her on Monday.”

Retracing her steps back to the table, she reached into the last remaining grocery bag and pulled out the sandwich rolls. “From what Leona says, all my suspects should be there.”

“You might want to double-check some of those suspects with Kate. She might have a little insight beyond anything my sister may have offered.”

She set the bag of rolls down and met Margaret Louise’s expectant gaze. “Who’s Kate?”

“That’s the sweet thing that’s been helpin’ taste test some of my recipes for the cookbook. Why, she loves food every bit as much as Clyde did.”

Tori froze. “Clyde?”

“Yes, Clyde. And don’t you go lookin’ all surprised on me. I told you months ago that Clyde was one of my taste testers. Why, he was such a help back when I was makin’ my sweet potato pie. Seemed only right to have him help me with my cookbook. Kate was an unexpected bonus.”

“But who is this Kate person and what does she have to do with Clyde?” she repeated.

“Kate Loggins. She’s just a little bit older than me, I think. Maybe a little more. Anyway, I reckon she was friendly with Clyde on account of them both bein’ creative types. Why, when I’d come by with my next recipe in the mornin’, I’d find them both sittin’ on that sunporch of Clyde’s—him paintin’ and her writin’ in some journal he gave her. Guess the view of Fawn Lake made her as happy as it did Clyde.”

“Was she his girlfriend or something?”

Margaret Louise made a face. “Even though Clyde lost his beloved Deidre to cancer ’bout four years ago, he wasn’t lookin’ to move on. Besides, Kate was a good twenty years his junior.”

Tori tucked the information aside and carried the rolls to the cutting board, where she proceeded to slice them in preparation for the meat and cheese she’d soon be adding. “I wonder why Dixie didn’t mention her.”

“Clyde was very regimented with his days. He painted in the mornin’, which was when Kate was most often there. Then he had tea with his son, Beau. Clyde treasured that time because it gave him someone to talk ’bout Deidre with. Then he’d read until it was time for lunch. That’s also the time he took visits from whoever was tryin’ to convince him to sell his land on that particular day. He told me the tactics they used gave Kate fodder for her stories. As soon as he’d kick them out, as he always did, he’d make his lunch.

“Once he started feelin’ poorly ’bout a month or so ago, Home Fare started bringin’ his lunch—which, between you and me, he must’ve hated on account of how much he valued his independence. After lunch he took his nap in the same chair he used for paintin’ and enjoyin’ his view.”

“It sounds like you saw him a lot.”

“Nah. Not really. Tried to stop by once a week with whatever recipes I’d perfected at that time. Didn’t matter what day I chose, his schedule was always the same.”

“When was the last time you used him as a taste tester?” she asked.

“Just before the Home Fare folks got involved. In fact, I didn’t know anything ’bout that until Georgina told me about his death. Had I known, I’d have made all his meals myself.”

Tori glanced at the timer on the brownies and moved on to the basket she’d readied with napkins, plastic cups, and wine goblets. “So how would I go about finding this Kate person?”

“You ask me.”

“Okay,” she teased. “Can you help me find Kate?”

“Does that mean I’m part of the investigatin’?”

She had to laugh. “Do you want to be?”

“That’s a fool thing to ask, Victoria. Of course, I do.” Margaret Louise struggled to a stand and then pointed out Tori’s back door just as the oven timer chimed. “You could bring along a bundle of those daffodils you’ve got bloomin’ in your backyard. They’d make a mighty pretty centerpiece on your picnic blanket.”

Yet another good suggestion and one that Tori would implement as she was carrying the picnic basket out to her car. Reaching for the oven mitt that hung on a hook above the stove, she opened the door and inhaled the sweet aroma. “Mmmm … These smell so good, Margaret Louise.”

“Now remember the white chocolate. You’ll thank me after the picnic, Victoria.”

Tori set the piping hot brownie pan on the top of the stove and reached for the box of white chocolate baking squares. One by one she unwrapped each square then dropped them into the double boiler Margaret Louise had quietly set on the front left burner. “So is there anyone you think we should be looking at extra closely? Anyone with a really strong motive?”

Margaret Louise turned back to Tori, a triumphant smile working its way across her rounded face at the sight of the melting chocolate. “You mean besides Shelby Jenkins?”

Tori stopped stirring, only to resume the motion at Margaret Louise’s insistence. “You stop stirrin’, it’s going to get lumpy. It needs to be smooth in order to drizzle.”

She slowed the pace of her hand and looked up at her friend. “Why would Shelby Jenkins have a strong motive for killing Clyde? I mean, her sweetshop does a good business already, even without the presence of a big resort.”

“True. But when her daddy is some big shot at Nirvana Resorts, you can’t help but wonder if she was workin’ some sort of inside track. Especially when Clyde loved her chocolate-covered cherries the way he did.”

This time the spoon slid into the chocolate when she stepped back. “Chocolate-covered cherries?”

Margaret Louise stepped around Tori, expertly fishing the spoon from the melted chocolate with the help of a pair of tongs from the utensil drawer. “This is ready to drizzle on the brownies now, Victoria.”

When Tori didn’t move, Margaret Louise took over, drizzling white chocolate across the top of the brownies with an expert hand.

She tried to focus on the drizzling process so she could duplicate the lattice-like effect on her own in the future, but she couldn’t. Not really anyway. “How often did Clyde eat these chocolate-covered cherries?”

Margaret Louise’s broad shoulders rose and fell with the woman’s shrug. “Once a week, maybe. And they had to be made by her … not one of her employees. He said she was the best at makin’ them the way his grandmother used to make ’em when he was a little boy.”

Tori swirled the information around in her head as Margaret Louise continued. “Clyde Montgomery was a sucker for tradition. He liked the recipes that reminded him of his childhood. He liked his days to follow the same schedule. He liked to look through old photo albums in his chair before he’d drift off for his daily nap. And it’s why he refused to sell even so much as an acre of his land no matter how much money was waved in front of his face.”

“I imagine they offered him a lot of money, no?”

“Probably more than you or I could ever dream ’bout.” Margaret Louise placed the empty saucepan into the sink and filled it with soapy water. “Have you ever seen Clyde’s place?”

“Dixie took me the other day.”

“Then you saw the view he had from that sunporch of his, yes?”

She closed her eyes at the memory, the sense of peace afforded by that view washing over her once again. “Yes.”

“Well, it wasn’t just the view that Clyde was desperate to hang on to.”

Her eyes flew open. “It wasn’t?”

“No. Why, it was more the fact that his daddy looked out at that same lake every day. So, too, did his granddaddy, and his granddaddy before him.”

“So it was the tradition,” she whispered. “He didn’t want to give up his link to the past.”

“That ’bout sums it up.”

Tori looked around at the various picnic foods now stretched across virtually every square inch of available counter space, her mind working overtime on everything she was hearing. “It’s kind of ironic, don’t you think?”

“What is, Victoria?”

“That Clyde was fighting to preserve his past and the memories he held dear, while the folks at tomorrow’s meeting were fighting to change the very essence of this town forever.”

A hush fell across the kitchen as both women became lost in thought, the fixings for Tori and Milo’s picnic untouched around them. Eventually, though, Margaret Louise spoke, her simple response sending a chill down Tori’s spine.

“Sure seems the meetin’ folks won, now don’t it, Victoria?”

Chapter 14

Tori was waiting atop the rocky ledge that served
as the public access to Fawn Lake when she heard his car approaching, the excitement she wanted to feel over his arrival counterbalanced by the apprehension that came with the unknown.

Would Milo still be angry over being stood up? Would the hurt over her lackadaisical attitude about their wedding still be as pervasive as it was on the phone the previous night?

The questions themselves were silly, of course, especially in light of the fact that a yes was not only a given but more than warranted. She’d been selfish the past few months, her thoughts and her energy on everything and everyone except Milo.

But that was about to change. She owed her future husband that much.

Taking one final peek at the red-checked blanket and the daffodils that graced its center, Tori took a deep breath and let it out slowly. There was no reason to be nervous. Milo loved her every bit as much as she loved him. They just needed time. Time to be together, to focus on their future as man and wife.

When he cut the engine, she walked to the top of the ledge and waited for him to step out of his car, the detailed drawing Margaret Louise had walked her through clutched tightly in his hand.

“You found the place, I see,” she called out, the tremor in her voice failing to mask the nervousness her mental pep talk had been unable to vanquish.

Milo lifted his chin until he pinpointed her location, the less than enthusiastic smile on his face increasing the moisture in her hands. “What’s going on? Why did you need me to meet you here?”

“Come on up and see for yourself.” She knew she was being cryptic, but there was a part of her that was afraid he’d get back into his car if she told him it was a picnic lunch. After all, she’d hurt him terribly, and the mere mention of a picnic really didn’t go far in smoothing that kind of emotion. She had to hope that the climb up to the top of the ledge and the reality of what she’d set up for them would have more impact than simple words.