Elizabeth Lynn Casey - Southern Sewing Circle 08 - Remnants of Murder (23 page)

Lulu raised her index finger to her chin and tapped it gently. “She says someone who’s really lucky could sit on top of a fence and have the birds feed him.”

She closed her eyes at the description that couldn’t be any more perfect for how she felt at that exact moment. “Then I guess that describes me.”

“It does?” Lulu asked.

“Sure. I’m sitting next to you, aren’t I?”

Chapter 22

Tori was still thinking about Lulu’s words when she
finally climbed into bed. No matter how many rough spots she’d encountered over the past few years, something good had always emerged from the bad.

Her former fiancé’s betrayal on the night of their engagement party had seemed like the end of the world when it first happened. But in hindsight, it was for the best. Had that heartbreak not happened, she never would have moved to Sweet Briar and met Milo—the man she was truly destined to marry.

Had she been able to separate her hurt over Jeff’s tomcatting from her beloved Chicago neighborhood, she’d never have jumped on various employment sites and discovered the librarian job in Sweet Briar.

Had she not discovered the job in Sweet Briar, she’d never have met Margaret Louise, and Leona, Debbie and Beatrice, Melissa and Georgina, Dixie and her beloved Rose.

Yes, Lulu was right on the money when it came to that once-awful incident. But it didn’t hold up under current circumstances. There wasn’t a scrap of shade she could find that would ever negate losing Milo or any one of her sewing sisters.

Rolling onto her side, she took note of the digital numbers on the clock radio and reached for the phone, her thoughts already jumping ahead to the fifth message she would leave on Milo’s recorder. This time she wouldn’t ask for him to return her call. No, this time she’d say everything that was in her heart and hope it fit within the time constraints allowed by his answering machine. What he did then would be up to him.

She pushed the first selection on her speed dial and waited as the predetermined number of rings gave way to the husky voice that never failed to stir up butterflies in her stomach.

“You’ve reached the voice mail of Milo Wentworth. Please leave your name, number, and a brief message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

The beep that followed his greeting gave her just enough time to find her breath. “Hi, Milo. It’s me. I can only imagine how tired you are of me putting off our wedding plans for what seems like anything and everything I can find. All I can say is it’s not because I don’t want to marry you. The thought of becoming your wife is what gets me through everything that goes wrong in the course of a day. It’s not that I think life will suddenly become smooth sailing the day we walk down the aisle, because I know it won’t. There will always be dips and turns. But when we’re married, we’ll be taking those dips and turns together. I love you, Milo, and I’m sorry for doing a lousy job of showing it sometimes. But I want you to know that tonight, after I hang up the phone, I’m going to look through those bridal dress magazines for the perfect dress to wear when I walk down the aisle—”

A long, shrill beep sounded in her ear, cutting her off mid-sentence. She stared up at the ceiling and contemplated calling back to finish what she needed to say, but she let it go. Milo was probably trying to sleep. Besides, if all went well over the next few days, she’d be able to say what still needed to be said in person.

Closing the phone in her hand, Tori swapped it for the stack of magazines and catalogs she’d been collecting for months. Page by page she made her way through a variety of different dress styles—off the shoulder, full length, tea length, and above the knee. Some had trains, some did not. Some boasted extensive lace, others satin. Despite the vast and subtle differences between each dress she saw, though, the brides were all smiling.

She flipped the current page over and stared down at the photo spread of an actual wedding. The autumn season, coupled with the New England location, provided breathtaking backdrops for many of the outdoor shots of the happy couple and their exuberant bridal party. Slowly, she looked from picture to picture, soaking up each and every detail of the bridesmaids’ dresses, the bride’s wedding gown, the bouquets, the cake, and the centerpieces. But it was the photograph in the center of the spread that brought her up short.

There, smiling down at the bride as she slipped a magnificent red rose into the center of an otherwise white bouquet, was an elderly woman with so much love and pride in her eyes that Tori couldn’t help but swipe at a few tears in her own. From the time she’d been a little girl, Tori had always fantasized about her wedding day. In those fantasies, the backdrop changed frequently depending on her age, as did the eye and hair color of her future husband. But the one thing that had remained constant from year to year had been the image of her great-grandmother buttoning up the back of Tori’s wedding dress.

Suddenly it all made sense. It wasn’t her life with Milo she was shirking. It was the actual wedding itself. The wedding her great-grandmother wasn’t alive to see.

The page began to bounce in her hand as tears ran down her cheeks, unchecked. She wanted this wedding, she really did. She just didn’t want the resurgence of pain she knew it would bring. There wasn’t a day that went by she didn’t think of her great-grandmother. But since the move to Sweet Briar had happened after her great-grandmother’s passing, the bouts of pain were largely memory-based rather than visual-based. The distinction, while small, allowed Tori at least some measure of control when it came to the timing of the tears that still fell nearly three years later.

Her wedding, though, would be a different story.

They’d talked about it for years.

They’d planned out different aspects of the event through drawings and notes.

Her great-grandmother was supposed to be there, supposed to cheer her on from the front row …

Pushing the magazine from her lap, Tori forced herself to reach for the next bridal dress catalog that now claimed the top of the pile. She had to do this. She had to find a dress. She owed it to Milo.

Forty minutes and six catalogs later, Tori finally found the perfect dress. For there, on the right-hand side of the page, was the kind of gown she and her great-grandmother had always envisioned. Delicate lace and tiny seed pearls adorned the fitted top. At the waist, the satin bottom draped to the floor in a slight yet classic A-line style. It was, in a word,
breathtaking
.

A quick check of the pricing in the back of the magazine, however, changed that word to
impossible
. Sighing, she shoved a bookmark inside the page and placed the catalog back on the stack. Her eyes were beginning to tire anyway. Tomorrow would be another day, another chance to find something her librarian salary could handle.

Swiveling her legs to the side, Tori sat up on the edge of the bed and put the pile of magazines on the floor beside her nightstand. At least she had a starting point for her dress now, something she could actually envision herself wearing. The fact she couldn’t afford the exact dress she liked was probably a blessing in disguise. The satin buttons that graced the back of the dress would simply be too painful without her great-grandmother there to button them.

She raised her arms above her head and stretched. The next thing on her make-things-right agenda was concocting a way to smooth Leona’s ruffled feathers. That, though, would have to wait until morning, when her emotions weren’t so close to the surface. Instead, she plucked the notebook Dixie had given her from the top of her nightstand and flipped it open to the first page and the list of names it still contained.

• Shelby Jenkins
  

• Granville (by way of Betty) Adams
  

• Lana Morris
  

• Bud Aikin
  

• Carter Johnson
  

• Bruce Waters
  

• John Peter Hendricks
  

All shopkeepers or restaurant owners. All potential suspects in Clyde Montgomery’s murder. Some of them Margaret Louise was certain they could cross out—like Bud and Lana. The rest, though, were a different story. One she needed to explore in terms of access to Clyde and his food.

But first, she needed sleep.

She set the notebook on top of the stack of magazines and switched off the lamp. With one quick hop, she was back on the bed and wiggling under the covers, her eyes heavy.

“Good night, Milo,” she whispered into the dark. “I love you—”

The chirp of her phone relegated her words to a groan as she opened her eyes and rolled back toward the nightstand. With fumbling hands, she cocked the phone to the side in order to view the display screen and bolted upright.

“Milo?”

“Hey.”

“I—I left you a message about an hour ago.” She hated the nervousness in her voice but knew she carried that blame. “Did you get it?”

“I did.”

Desperate to keep him talking, she launched into an unsolicited account of her evening since she’d left the message. “I looked through almost my entire stack of magazines after I called. And while I know it’s not an excuse for my dillydallying, I think I figured out why I’ve been avoiding this part of the planning.”

“This part?”

She nodded in the darkness. “Finding a dress. Writing my vows. Finalizing details for the reception.”

“Basically all of it.”

While she understood his frustration, she knew his words weren’t entirely true. “I’ve picked out the cake with Debbie and discussed the menu with Margaret Louise, Milo. I know that all of the bridesmaids are going to wear autumn colors even if we haven’t selected the style yet. And we just chose our honeymoon destination the other day.”

“So why put off all this other stuff? I mean, the dress is supposed to be the part that women start dreaming about when they’re little, isn’t it?”

A wave of pain pushed her back onto her pillow. “Exactly.”

“Then I don’t get it, Tori.”

“When I’d picture myself getting married, I always pictured my great-grandmother being there, buttoning the back of my dress and sending me down the aisle with a kiss on my temple the way she always did.”

She babbled on in the wake of his silence. “I—I guess I was just having a hard time separating the two.”

“Oh baby, I’m sorry.” Just like that, any lingering reservation Milo harbored in his voice was gone, in its place the same warm and understanding man she was desperate to marry. “I feel like such a jerk right now.”

“Don’t! Please!” She squinted up at the ceiling and tried to pick out the swirled pattern barely visible in the swatch of moonlight creeping through her bedroom curtain. “I found a dress I absolutely love in one of my catalogs. I’ll be able to take the picture to some of the stores in Lawry to give them a feel for the basic style I’d really love to find.”

“If you found a dress you love, why not just buy that one?”

She laughed. “Because I’m a librarian, Milo. In Sweet Briar, South Carolina.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re right. You’re not. You’re a third grade teacher. In Sweet Briar, South Carolina.” She pulled the sheet up to her chin and closed her eyes, the sound of Milo’s breath in her ear almost hypnotic. “I can’t justify that kind of money on a dress. Our wedding is
one
day. The price tag on that dress could furnish two or three rooms in our home and maybe even a swing for the front porch.”

“But you love it.”

“No, I love
you
. I just really, really, really liked the dress.”

“I’m sure my mom would be willing to help bridge the gap between what we can afford and what we can’t.”

She felt the smile even before it made its way across her mouth, the sincerity in Milo’s voice warming her all the way down to her toes. “I’m sure I can find something close.”

When he didn’t respond immediately, she found herself going over her words, looking for something she might have said to offend, but there was nothing.

“Milo?” she prompted. “Is everything okay?”

“I heard about Clyde.”

Her eyes widened at the mention of the taboo subject. “Oh?”

“You were right.”

Not knowing what to say, she merely tightened her grip on the phone and waited for him to continue.

“So tell me,” he finally said. “Who are you looking at for his murder?”

Chapter 23