Elizabeth Lynn Casey - Southern Sewing Circle 08 - Remnants of Murder (20 page)

And then she remembered. Looking from the trio beneath the tree to the wooden pencil holder on her desk, Tori plucked out a pen and readied her hand to write. “Go ahead, I’ll take it now.”

• • •

She took great pains to make her stride seem as
natural as possible as she rounded the back side of the library and headed toward the threesome on the sidewalk. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know the mayor and the police chief were discussing something important. Georgina’s erect posture and clenched hands were as much a giveaway to that fact as was the chief’s widened stance and occasional hand motion. The second man, while unfamiliar to Tori, stared up at the branches above them as if he wanted to be anywhere else at that moment.

Something was going on, something she had a feeling she’d want to know …

Swiping the back of her hand across her brow, Tori slowed her pace as she approached the trio. “Hi, Georgina, Chief Dallas. Beautiful day we’re having, isn’t it?”

The chief nodded. Georgina merely shrugged.

She cast about for something to say, something that might get her invited into the conversation or give her a reason to linger if even for just an extra minute or two. Finally, she thrust her hand in the direction of the tall man with the salt-and-pepper hair and offered her best smile. “Hi, I’m Tori Sinclair.”

“I’m Beau Montgomery.”

“Beau—” She looked from Georgina to the chief and back again, the mayor’s wooden pose and the chief’s obvious resignation only serving to shore up the connection being made in her thoughts. “You mean, Clyde’s son?” At his nod, she allowed her shake to morph into a squeeze. “I’m so sorry to learn of your dad’s passing.”

“Thank you. He was a good man and lived a good, long life.”

Breaking eye contact with the mayor, Robert gestured a hand in Tori’s direction. “Tori, here, is the one who first alerted me to the fact your father’s death might be more than it seemed.”

Surprise snapped Beau’s head backward. “How did you know my dad?”

“I didn’t. My friend Dixie did.”

“My father was ninety-one, Miss Sinclair.”

She nodded. “He was. He was also in amazing physical shape as recently as six weeks ago. Animals age quickly, people do not.”

Before Beau could respond, Georgina spoke, the mayor’s voice weary at best. “Robert tells me an autopsy was conducted on Clyde’s body yesterday morning. A rush has been put on the findings. If he was poisoned the way you suspect, we’ll know before week’s end.”

She glanced at the chief, felt the relief as it coursed through her body at his nod of confirmation. “Thank you, Chief.”

“I’m not doing this for you, Victoria. I heard what you said in my office the other day and I decided to do my own checking. The best way to know for sure was to autopsy the body.”

It was the best scenario she could have hoped for and she said as much to the group. “You’re doing the right thing, Chief. If nothing shows up, suspicions are put to rest once and for all. If something
does
show up, then we can find the person responsible for Clyde’s death and see that he—
or she
—is brought to justice.”

Chapter 19

Tori tilted her cheek to the swath of sunlight creeping
across the information desk and smiled in the general direction of the front door, the momentary reminder of the day’s perfect weather warming her from the inside out.

“Welcome to the Sweet Briar Public Library. If there’s anything I can help you find, please don’t hesitate to ask.” She waited for her eyes to adjust to the rapid change in lighting as the door swung closed and returned the room to its normal fluorescent glow.

“Miss Sinclair, right?”

“Yes, I’m Victoria.” She bobbed her head to the left and instantly recognized the salt-and-pepper hair and taller-than-average stature of Beau Montgomery. “Oh, Mr. Montgomery, it’s nice to see you again.”

“Call me Beau.” He closed the gap between the front door and the information desk with several long strides, a tentative smile rounding his otherwise narrow jawline. “I was hoping you’d still be here.”

“I’m still here,” she said, gesturing toward the computer in front of her stool. “Next month is a big month for new releases, and if I don’t make sure to order a few copies
now
, my patrons will have my head.”

A flash of amusement ignited behind Beau’s blue eyes, paving the way for a warm, easygoing laugh. “I didn’t know being a librarian could be such a dangerous profession.”

“Believe me, it is.” Reaching forward, she minimized the order screen and pivoted on the stool until she was facing the man. “So, what can I do for you?”

In an instant, the sparkle she’d seen in his eyes only moments earlier was gone, in its place the dullness of someone in mourning. “I—I was hoping to ask you a few questions about this whole thing with my father. Chief Dallas told me you’re the one who came to him with the possibility Dad had been …
poisoned?
”

Glancing toward the bank of computers in the right-hand corner of the main room, Tori did a quick mental head count—one, two, three. Everyone currently in the library was accounted for and otherwise occupied. She released a soft sigh of relief and tugged her stool closer to the man. “I didn’t know your father, Beau. But my friend Dixie did.”

“Dixie,” he repeated softly. “I believe that’s the woman who called to tell me he was dead.”

Tori nodded. “She was asked to deliver meals to your dad for Home Fare and had been doing so for a few days. From what I can tell, they became fast friends. Anyway, when she found him that last day, she was understandably upset.”

He closed his eyes briefly, only to open them again with a sigh. “I’ll have to make sure to call her and thank her. The thought he might have been there for some time before I got back from my business trip makes me shudder.”

She allowed him a moment and then continued on, her words addressing his original question. “When Dixie heard that his death was being blamed on his age, she got upset. And that’s when she came to me with her suspicions.”

“But
poisoned
?”

After a second glance toward the computer bank, she slid off her stool and led him toward a table on the opposite side of the room. When they were both seated, she did her best to take him through the steps that had landed her in Chief Dallas’s office with the autopsy request. “Dixie never said he was poisoned. She just questioned his rapid decline in health. I mean, you saw him fairly regularly, didn’t you?”

“Every chance I got. When my mother was alive, she and Dad used to have tea every morning. He’d make the tea and she’d make scones or muffins or whatever she felt like making that particular morning. After she passed a few years ago, Dad told me that was one of the things he missed most about Mom—that time to talk. So, whenever possible, I came by and we had tea. Dad used to joke I wasn’t as pretty as Mom, and I used to tell him it was comments like that that would put a stop to my previsit bakery runs. To which, of course, he’d say the scones I brought were never as good as Mom’s. But it was all in good fun.”

“That sounds wonderful,” she mused. “I bet that kept you two very close.”

He shrugged. “I guess. My dad was kind of opinionated and awfully close-minded at times. Made it hard to talk to him about much of anything besides his art … and Mom. And if I was having trouble with the business, he had a way of pooh-poohing it like it wasn’t important. But we both knew he had the benefit of being retired and set for life … I didn’t.” He traced a faint pen mark along the tabletop in front of him, shaking his head when he reached the end. “But I’d listen to his pontificating all over again if it meant I could have him back.”

Reaching across the table, she patted his listless hand until it stilled beneath hers. “I’m sure you would.”

“So how did you get to the idea of poison?” he finally asked.

“Pieces just started to fall into place. I did a little research here at the library one evening and discovered that a rapid decline in health, such as the one your father exhibited, could be indicative of arsenic poisoning. I wouldn’t have thought much about that if it wasn’t called to my attention just how many people were upset with your dad … people who had access to him via food. The fact that those same people would benefit greatly from his death made it difficult to write off as a possibility.”

Beau drew back, his eyes wide. “Benefit from his death? What are you talking about?”

She pulled her hand into her lap and stared at the man. “You knew that resort companies were trying to get hold of your dad’s land, didn’t you?”

“Of course. But what does that have to do with …” His words trailed off as the image Tori was creating became crystal clear. “Wait. You think someone from one of the resort companies killed him off? But—but how could that be? They didn’t have access to Dad. He wouldn’t even take their calls after the initial round of offers.”

“But he took visits from people who wanted a resort to happen every bit as much as the resort companies themselves.”

His brows furrowed as his gaze bore into hers. “Again, what are you talking about?”

“Shopkeepers in Sweet Briar. Their businesses would take off with the kind of traffic these resorts could bring.” Lifting her index finger into the air, she pushed her chair back and scurried over to the information desk and the folder she’d put together during the weekend.

Lowering her voice to a near whisper, she returned to the table and handed the folder to Beau. “I did a little research on the kind of money one of those resorts could mean for a town like Sweet Briar. The figures are really quite staggering.”

He looked from the folder to Tori and back again before setting it on the table and flipping it open, his gaze skipping down the notes she’d taken and the calculations she’d made. When he reached the last page, he pushed the folder into the center of the table, his shoulders slumped. “Wow. I had no idea.”

At a loss for what else to say, she merely nodded and waited, the man’s hushed voice making its way through clenched lips. “So what you’re telling me is that I’m going to reward my father’s killer?”

“Only if you sell,” she pointed out.

Raking a hand down his face, he exhaled a burst of air. “What else am I supposed to do? I don’t need that kind of land. I’m a single man—”

“As was your father,” she reminded him gently.

“With a job that has me traveling extensively.”

“You need a place to call your home base.”

He slouched back in his chair and stared at the folder, the sadness in his eyes heartbreaking. “Staying here in Sweet Briar would be too hard. Everywhere I look in that house I see my mom—the kitchen where she baked her scones, the bed she tucked me into each night as a child, the chair we shared while she read with me … all of it. Some people find comfort in that kind of tangible reminder. I’m not one of them.”

She closed her hand atop his once again and gave a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to decide anything like that right now. But no matter what you choose to do, autopsying your dad’s body was a smart move. If he was murdered, we don’t want the killer to benefit from the crime.”

A beat of silence fell between them before Beau pushed the folder back toward Tori and stood. “My dad used to get hand-dipped chocolate cherries from a sweetshop in town. Requested the owner make them herself each and every time. Think arsenic could find its way into something like that even if she’d been delivering them for months?”

“Shelby Jenkins. And she’s on my list should the autopsy back up my belief.”

He took a step toward the door and stopped, snapping his finger in the air as he turned back to Tori. “Come to think of it, I remember eating some leftover pie one morning when I didn’t make it to the bakery for scones. Dad said the councilman’s wife made it for him as a bribe. And Dad said it just like that … as a bribe.”

“Granville Adams and his wife, Betty,” she supplied. “They’re also on my list.”

“But how will we know if those items had poison in them if they’re gone now? An autopsy can’t tie the poison to something he ate a week ago, can it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. But all of that will certainly give us a place to start if this turns into a murder investigation.” It was the best reassurance she could give under the circumstances. “If your dad was murdered, Beau, I’ll figure out which one of them did it. I promise you that.”

He studied her closely, his gaze taking in every aspect of her face before moving slowly down to the feet on which she was now standing. When he reached the floor, he returned his focus to their starting place, the dullness in his eyes tempered by something else. “My dad always said that there are good people everywhere. People who come into our lives to help … or to listen … or even to get us where we need to go more easily than we could ever do alone. It’s a shame he never got to know you.”

Her cheeks warmed at his praise and she did her best to wave the moment off. “I don’t know what’s going to come of any of this, but either way, we’ll find the answers we need.”