Elizabeth Lynn Casey - Southern Sewing Circle 08 - Remnants of Murder (27 page)

“Okay …”

Surprised by the confusion in her fiancé’s voice, she turned back to Milo. “Those scones were made
here
, Milo … at Debbie’s Bakery. A shift Emma works during the week. I can’t look at Shelby and Granville and not consider her as a possibility, too.”

“But why would she do that?”

It was the same question she kept coming back to, as well. It was also where the familial connection between Emma and the other top suspect on her list kept surfacing in her thoughts. Maybe it was nuts, maybe it wasn’t. Either way, she wasn’t confident enough in the nuts part to dismiss it from her thoughts entirely even if she’d allowed herself to do just that when she was with Rose.

“I mean, I still find it hard to wrap my head around Granville as a suspect, but it’s possible. Emma? I just can’t fathom that.”

Pushing her plate into the center of the table, Tori propped her elbows on the edge and dropped her head into her hands. “I know.”

“A couple of months ago, I would have shut you down on Granville, too. But with the way the next election season is shaping up, I can’t be quite so sure anymore.”

She dropped her hands back down to the table and gave Milo her undivided attention. “What’s changed?”

“Granville likes the spotlight, the perks that come with his council seat.”

“Perks?”

“The star treatment essentially. Or as much star treatment as a person can get in a town the size of Sweet Briar.” Milo took another pull of his iced tea and then swirled the remaining liquid around in his cup before finishing it off completely. “Front-row seats at his sixth grader’s performances, time on center stage at each and every town festival, a float for him and his family in the July Fourth parade, that sort of thing.”

Intrigued, she leaned forward, hushing her voice to a near whisper. “Why? Why does that matter so much?”

“I guess you have to know a little bit about Granville’s background. And Betty’s, too.” He set his empty cup next to Tori’s half-eaten brownie and ran his finger along the edge of the plate. “From what I’ve been able to gather over the years, Betty came from money. The kind of money that opened doors. Granville, on the other hand, didn’t. As in, he grew up in a shack out in the woods. Spent most of his life barefoot and not because he was a free spirit.”

“Betty’s parents must have been thrilled,” she said wryly.

“Exactly. But by the time they met, Granville was on a self-made path to a better life. They fell in love, he asked her to marry him, and she accepted—much to the chagrin of her wealthy parents. So they cut her off.”

She rolled her eyes but kept silent as Milo continued. “Granville got into the professional world, worked up through the ranks, and managed to buy himself and Betty a nice house not far from Georgina’s place. They lived well, but he was always cognizant of the lifestyle Betty gave up to marry him. Eventually he decided to put his hat in the ring for a council seat here in town, and while a councilman in Sweet Briar, South Carolina, isn’t anything terribly important, it—”

“Came with perks,” she finished. “The kind of perks he felt his wife had given up to be with him.”

Milo nodded. “That about sums it up.”

She considered everything she’d heard up to that point, connecting new dots as she went. “Okay, so I take it he’s afraid he won’t get reelected?”

“Rhett Morgan is running against him this year. Rhett’s lived in this town his whole life just like the guy who ran against Granville last time. The difference this time is Rhett’s got no skeletons. Not even ones from his childhood. He’s simply a tried-and-true Sweet Briar native and that alone is going to get him a lot of votes. A
lot
of votes.”

“I’m following …”

“Granville isn’t dumb. He knows he has to do something big to offset Rhett’s bloodlines. Convincing Clyde to sell his land so Sweet Briar could profit—across the board—could have been that something big. It would have made him a shoo-in quite frankly.”

Milo’s news was a lot to process but it certainly added more than its fair share of underlines to the councilman’s name.

“Is Emma particularly close to her dad?” she finally asked.

Milo shrugged then broke off a tiny corner of the brownie and turned it over on the plate. “Nothing over the top. But she is close to her mom, that’s for sure. I mean think about it, when you see Emma outside of the bakery, who’s she with most of the time?”

“Betty?”

“Yup.”

Tori slumped back against his shoulder and moaned quietly. “Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Maybe Granville isn’t the only one who wants to see his wife have a taste of the lifestyle she grew up with. Maybe Emma wants it for her mom every bit as much as he does.” She inhaled slowly, another thought forming behind her lips almost immediately. “Rose said something earlier about Emma not being able to know which scone was Beau’s and which was Clyde’s. But now, thinking about it more, maybe Emma just figured if she slipped the poison into the wrong scone, it wouldn’t affect Beau as quickly. But I just don’t know. I don’t know what to think about any of this.”

His lips returned to her temple and lingered there for several moments before dropping to her ear, her neck, and finally her lips. She tried to focus, to enjoy their moment together, but she was worried about Emma … and Debbie.

“It’ll be okay, Tori. We’ll figure this out.”

“But how?” she whispered. “And when?”

“Maybe something will come out tomorrow. Something that will make all of this worrying futile, or point us in the right direction once and for all.”

She parted company with Milo in order to take stock of his face. “Tomorrow? What’s tomorrow?”

“The first annual Spruce-Up-Sweet-Briar event.”

“Spruce-Up-Sweet-Briar? What’s that?”

He gathered up his cup and their napkins and slid off the stool, the intensity of his gaze letting her know he was ready to spend a little time alone together before calling it quits for the night. “It’s something Granville is organizing to get the gazebo and the square ready for Heritage Days.”

“I take it he’ll be there, too?” She grabbed her plate and followed him toward the trash can in the corner of the room.

“He’ll probably even pick up a few sticks and take a few strokes with the paintbrush.”

She felt the grin before her mouth had even twitched. “I’m pretty good with a paintbrush and a wheelbarrow myself …”

Chapter 27

Tori hiked the tote bag across her shoulder and took
a deep breath. She had an hour before she needed to meet Dixie and Milo in the town square.

Pausing at the bottom of the steps, she did a mental run-through of everything in her bag. Over the past three years, she’d made her fair share of missteps with all of her friends—an occasional day-late birthday card, forgetting to return a phone call, being late for an agreed-upon outing, and that sort of thing. But in every one of those cases, the person who’d been on the receiving end of the misstep had accepted her heartfelt apology with grace and understanding.

None of those cases, though, had involved Leona.

Until now.

“You can do this, Tori,” she mumbled before squaring her shoulders and taking the steps two at a time all the way to Leona’s door. When she reached her destination, she took another, longer breath and pushed the doorbell.

Seconds turned to minutes as she waited, the lack of any discernible noise on the other side of the door leading her to believe her planning and preparation had been for naught. Yet just as she was getting ready to give up, the front door swung open to reveal Leona’s mother, Annabelle.

“Victoria!”

She welcomed the warmth of Annabelle’s greeting and raised it with a hug. “Annabelle, hi! How are you this morning?”

Annabelle’s wide eyes moved past Tori to the comings and goings of the people who lived in the condominium complex, a hint of sadness chipping away at the woman’s otherwise happy demeanor. “I wish I could go for a walk, too.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the white-haired gentleman roughly ten years Annabelle’s junior and couldn’t help but ache for the woman. While still in relatively good physical shape for a ninety-year-old woman, Annabelle’s cognitive abilities simply weren’t sharp enough to allow her out on her own. “I’m sure Leona or Margaret Louise would be happy to take you for a walk, Annabelle.”

“No, by myself. But if I do”—Annabelle’s eyes dulled as the familiar vacancy began to take over—“you know what happens.”

Reaching out, Tori took one of Annabelle’s hands in hers and peered around the woman into the hallway beyond. “Leona?” she called. “Leona? Are you here?”

When there was no answer, she stepped inside the tiny foyer and closed the door, her left hand still holding fast to Annabelle. “Why don’t we go sit down for a little—”

“Victoria?” Leona appeared at the end of the hallway with Paris clutched tightly in her bejeweled hands. “Mama? Is everything okay?”

Tori met Leona’s bewildered expression and did her best to smooth it over. “Hi, Leona. Everything’s fine. I knocked and your mother answered.” She closed the gap between them as she slowly led Annabelle toward the sitting room. “I—I think she should probably sit down for a while.”

In a flash, Leona was swapping Paris for her mother’s hand, taking over on the journey toward the couch. “Mama, we’re just going to sit for a while, okay?” When Annabelle didn’t respond, Leona’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I’m here, Mama.”

Once Annabelle was settled on the couch, Leona retrieved Paris from Tori’s grasp and jerked her head toward the reading alcove on the other side of the room. “What happened?”

“She noticed a man walking along the path out front and she said she wished she could do that, too,” Tori explained as she, along with Leona, took turns checking on Annabelle. “And then, she slipped away.” It was a statement she’d said before, as had everyone who’d come to know the elder Elkin since her arrival in town nearly six months earlier. Yet no matter how often anyone said it, or how often anyone heard it, it never made it any easier.

Watching such a wonderfully sweet woman suffer the effects of aging was painful. Watching those effects reverberate across people Tori loved as much as Margaret Louise and Leona only made it harder.

Leona lowered her voice to a near whisper. “Mama has been swiping more things lately. Big things, little things, and everything in between. It’s getting harder and harder to keep up with her these days.”

“Have you told your sister?” she asked.

“No. Margaret Louise is focused on her cookbook. I don’t want to worry her.” Leona elevated Paris until the top of the bunny’s head rested just beneath her own chin. “When the cookbook is done, Mama’s problems will still be there. I can tell Margaret Louise then.”

Tori blinked away the sudden mist in her eyes. “I wish everyone could see this side of you, Leona …”

“Why? You just turn everyone against me anyway.”

She sucked in her breath at Leona’s words. “Turn everyone against you? Leona, please, you have to believe that was not my intention with any of this. I thought you understood this whole Clyde thing from the beginning.”

Leona’s head dipped forward, her wide green eyes visible atop her stylish glasses. “I understood you and Dixie wanted to play Nancy Drew. I understood that my input regarding possible suspects was invaluable. What I didn’t understand was the way you were going to turn everyone in this town against me.”

“Everyone?”
Tori echoed in disbelief.

“Everyone.” Leona looked past Tori to her mother, Tori’s gaze following suit. “Everyone except Mama and Paris.” Then, without waiting for a reply, Leona marched across the room, set Paris in the crook of her mother’s arm, and then retraced her steps back to Tori, the anger in her eyes tempered only by her concern for Annabelle.

“Margaret Louise is mad at you?”

“No.”

“Beatrice?”

“No.”

“Melissa?”

“No.”

“Debbie?”

“No.”

“Rose?”

Leona stared up at the ceiling with her best theatrics. “When is that old goat
not
mad at me?”

She considered sharing the concern Rose had expressed for Leona less than forty-eight hours earlier, but knew it wasn’t the time. Leona was angry at Tori. “Okay, I give up. Please tell me who is so mad at you.”

“John Peter, that’s who.”

Ahhh, she should have known.

John Peter.

Leona’s latest romantic target …

Tori dropped onto the nearest chair and pointed to its mate on the other side of the hooked rug. Leona, however, continued to stand in an act of defiance.

“Fine. Suit yourself.” She leaned forward, modulating her voice so as to make sure Leona heard each and every word while simultaneously keeping the room’s overall atmosphere calm for the now-dozing Annabelle. “Someone killed Clyde Montgomery, Leona. They poisoned him a little at a time until his body simply shut down. Do you think that’s okay?”

Leona’s chin lowered a hairbreadth.

“And while I can’t be sure just yet, it seems as if someone did that to him because they didn’t like a decision he’d made. A decision in regards to
his own land
, Leona.” She plowed ahead, hoping her words weren’t too harsh for a woman who was overly sensitive on the receiving end even if she lacked that same quality on the giving end. “Do you think it would be okay if Beatrice or Debbie decided to poison you because they were tired of you showing up to sewing circle meetings and never actually
sewing
?”