Elizabeth Lynn Casey - Southern Sewing Circle 08 - Remnants of Murder (4 page)

Tori glanced at the wall clock and felt the answering
slump of her shoulders. All morning long, she’d held out hope that Dixie would breeze through the front door of the library with a stack of picture books and a creative way to tie them all together for the eight or so toddlers now peering up at her from their mothers’ laps.

Yet Dixie hadn’t materialized.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got this covered.” Nina stepped around Tori to claim the one child-size chair amid a sea of toddler-topped carpet squares, a smile lifting her rounded cheeks. “Hi, boys and girls! My name is Miss Nina and I love kitty cats. Do you know what kitty cats say?”

She knew she should be grateful for the chorus of happy meows that erupted around the room, but it was hard. Dixie and toddler story time went together like milk and cookies. To have one without the other just didn’t fit.

Slowly, she backed out of the children’s room and made her way down the hallway and into the main room. Aside from one patron utilizing a computer, and another, older gentleman, reading a local history book on the other side of the room, all was quiet.

If she was smart, she’d take advantage of the lull and tackle one of the half-dozen or so tasks that had found a spot on her daily to-do list that morning. Yet deep down inside, the notion of shelving, budget tweaking, and event planning fell a distant second to trying Dixie’s number one more time.

The likelihood her attempt would go to voice mail was highly probable based on past experience, but still, she had to try. For her own peace of mind, if nothing else.

Lifting the information desk’s main phone from its base, she punched in the number she’d committed to memory early on during Nina’s leave—a number she’d called every time she needed backup at the library. Only back then, Dixie always answered, her excitement over being needed an instant smile maker.

One ring morphed into two, three, and four rings before Dixie’s voice came on the line. But instead of the recorded version Tori was now able to recite by heart, it was live.

“Hello?”

She tightened her grip on the phone, perching on the edge of a nearby stool as she did. “Dixie! I’ve been trying to reach you all week!”

“I know.”

When the woman failed to elaborate, Tori continued, “I’ve been worried about you. Are you okay?”

“Actually, I’m on my way out right now. The Home Fare organization has requested my assistance in handling one of their more difficult clients.”

Resisting the urge to admit she knew about the volunteer assignment, she, instead, gave the response Dixie craved. “Dixie, that’s wonderful. They couldn’t have found a better, more creative troubleshooter than you.”

The elderly woman’s smile was audible over the phone. “Clyde Montgomery ran off three workers in the past three weeks. The first one simply couldn’t handle his gruffness. The second one got sick of his demands. And the third walked out after Clyde became convinced he was a spy and an incompetent one at that.”

Tori worried her lip as she considered Dixie’s words. “You sure you want to get involved with someone like that?”

“Clyde may be old but he’s not dumb. He knows when he’s being talked
at
and when he’s being talked
with
. Accepting meals from strangers is hard enough without being made to feel like you’ve lost your marbles just because you’ve got a cane you never thought you’d need propped against your chair and your hands have suddenly decided to start trembling when you eat.” Dixie paused long enough to get a handle on the anger Tori heard building in her voice. “But Clyde and me? We get along just fine. I respect him and his need to be seen as a productive member of society, and he respects me and my like-minded pursuit.”

“That’s wonderful, Dixie.”

“Of course I know how distraught the little ones must be in story time right now, Victoria, but Clyde Montgomery really needs his meals and I’m the only one capable of handling him.”

The response was typical Dixie. Only this time, the woman’s boastful ways didn’t make Tori smile or roll her eyes as they had so many times in the past. No, this time they brought her face-to-face with a startling reality: she’d come to rely on Dixie far more than she’d realized—as a sounding board
and
a mentor.

Blinking against the unexpected misting in her eyes, Tori forced her voice to sound upbeat, to deliver the only answer that was right and true even if it pained her to say it. “Then that’s where you need to be. Nina and I will just have to make do.”

• • •

Tori bypassed the peanut butter sandwich she’d
made that morning and reached for the leftover brownie at the bottom of her brown paper lunch sack. With any luck, the infusion of chocolate would help offset the doldrums that had rolled in on the heels of her phone call with Dixie.

Part of her felt guilty for being blue. After all, Dixie was her friend. She should feel
happy
that the woman had found a place to feel useful after being unceremoniously kicked to the curb for the second time in as many years.

But it was the other part—the part that was sad—that seemed to be winning in the battle for her mood. Dixie was difficult most days, downright cantankerous on others, yet somehow over the past nine months, the former head librarian had managed to prove herself invaluable in everything from how to handle the board members, to crafting creative ways to cut budgetary corners without affecting the patrons.

Swiveling her chair around, Tori looked out at the library grounds. For two years, the view from her office window had been her saving grace on difficult days. The sight of hundred-year-old moss-draped trees, and the patrons who devoured books beneath them, had become a foolproof way to catch her breath and clear her head.

Dixie’s days at the library were over. It wasn’t something Tori wanted, nor something Dixie had sought. Nonetheless, it had happened. The least she could do as a friend was help celebrate the woman’s new purpose in life.

That’s what friends did.

Besides, Dixie wasn’t leaving Sweet Briar. Just the library. The former librarian’s vast experience and life-based opinions were just a phone call or sewing circle meeting away.

Turning back to her desk, Tori took a bite of brownie and consulted the to-do list she’d managed to ignore for more than half the day. If she cut her lunch short, she could still get most, if not all, of the tasks completed.

Her mind made up, she shoved the rest of the brownie into her mouth and stood, her progress quickly thwarted by the ring of her cell phone. Glancing down at the caller ID screen, she debated letting it go to voice mail. But if she did, she knew she’d be subjected to a lecture on good taste and manners followed by several reminders of her purported offense in the weeks and months to come.

Sighing, she flipped open her phone and held it to her ear. “Good afternoon, Leona, what can I do for you?”

“You can tell me why that gorgeous new police officer ran off on me a few minutes ago.”

Resting her head against the back of her chair, she stared up at the ceiling and mentally berated herself for opting out of the lecture. “How would I know that, Leona—”

“He was standing there, outside my shop, admiring my significant assets and working up the courage to ask me out on a date, when that blasted radio they all wear on their shoulders went off. Next thing I knew, he’s talking letters and numbers with some masculine-sounding female and he starts running toward his car … away from
me
!”

It was hard not to laugh, but she knew if she did, she’d never get off the phone. Instead, she offered the appropriate clucking sound while still trying to keep her friend’s feet rooted in some semblance of reality. “Um, maybe he had a police emergency?”

“But I was wearing that white linen dress that hugs my curves!”

“Emergencies trump tight dresses, Leona.”

“Not this one, they don’t!”

That did it. She laughed. Hard.

“Did I miss something, dear?” Leona fairly growled through the phone, nearly drowning out the staccato beep of an incoming call. “Because the last time I checked, you should be taking notes on the specifics of the dress, not laughing—”

“Leona? Can I put you on hold for a second? I’ve got a call coming in from”—she pulled the phone from her ear long enough to check the display screen—“Dixie right now and I really should find out what she needs.”

“
Dixie?
You want to put me on hold for
Dixie
?”

“I won’t be long.”

A suffocating pause soon gave way to Leona’s infamous martyr voice. “Take all the time you need, dear.
My
trials can certainly wait. It’s not like I’ve had to listen to you drone on about Milo and dead bodies again and again these past two years.”

She opened her mouth to protest but it was too late. Leona was gone.

“I’ll never hear the end of that one,” she mumbled. Then, with the help of a quick and calming inhale, she switched to the other line. “Hi, Dixie! How’d your delivery go today?”

A muffled sniffle on the other end of the line made her sit up straight. “Dixie? Dixie, are you there? Are you okay?”

“N-N-No.”

“What’s wrong? Did you fall? Are you hurt?”

“I-I’m f-fine. But … It’s C-Clyde … He … He’s
dead
.”

Chapter 4

The sun was already beginning its descent behind
the trees when the sound of Dixie’s footfalls on the rickety porch steps roused Tori from an unexpected catnap. Pushing the fog from her brain, she rose to her feet and rushed to close the gap.

“Oh, Dixie … I’m so sorry you had to find Mr. Montgomery the way that you did.” She took the woman’s trembling hands in hers and squeezed. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, but Nina had to get home to Lyndon and I had to stay and cover the library until closing.”

Dixie tugged her left hand from Tori’s grasp and brought it to her forehead, rubbing the spot just above her red-rimmed eyes as she did. “Is Lyndon all right?”

She drew back at the croak in Dixie’s voice. “Lyndon’s fine. Are
you
?”

“I’m old. I’m starved for attention. I’m incapable of having a sane thought in my head.” One by one, Dixie ticked off a litany of self-deprecating statements, each addition to the lineup more preposterous than the one before. “And let’s not forget the fact I’ve spent my entire life around books and therefore have an overactive imagination that might lead me to see things that aren’t truly there.”

At any other place and with any other person, Tori might have laughed at such an attention-seeking self-reflection, but seeing the pain on her friend’s face kept that reaction in check. “C’mon, Dixie, what are you talking about? None of those things are true and you know that as well as I do.”

“They must be true. Robert Dallas said so.”

The mere mention of the Sweet Briar Police Department’s top dog made Tori’s muscles tighten in response. Too many times over the past two years she’d dealt with the local chief under less than ideal conditions, and each and every time he’d left her wanting to bang her head against a wall. “Let me get this right. Chief Dallas said you’re old … and starved for attention and … incapable of a sane thought …” Her words petered off temporarily as her mind worked to fill in the rest of what Dixie had shared. “He really said those things to you?”

“Not in so many words, but the sentiment was there, Victoria.” Dixie looked at the ground then gestured toward the front door of her aging home. “I have to go inside. My head is pounding and I’m feeling a bit light-headed.”

“When was the last time you ate?” she asked quickly.

“Breakfast, I think.”

The woman’s body swayed ever so slightly on the way to the door, prompting Tori to grab hold of her upper arm and accompany her into the house. Once inside, she led Dixie to the kitchen and toward one of two vinyl dining chairs. “Sit. Sit. Tell me what you’d like and I’ll get it for you.”

Then, without waiting, Tori plucked the lone glass that had been left to dry in the drainer and held it under a running faucet. “While I’m making you something to eat, I need you to drink this. Slowly.” She carried the glass to the table and set it down in front of a ghostly white Dixie. “If the light-headed feeling doesn’t go away, then bend over and put your head between your knees.”

Dixie took one sip and then another while Tori moved on to the refrigerator with a plate in hand. “How about a small chicken leg? Or maybe a piece of cheese?”

“Oh Victoria, I can’t even fathom eating after … after seeing Clyde that way.”

She plunked the leftover meat onto the plate and shut the refrigerator, the tremor in her friend’s voice pushing worry aside in favor of empathy. “I’m sorry you had to find him like that, Dixie. It must have been awful.”

“It was.” Dixie leaned back in her seat and stared at the plate Tori placed in front of her. “I knew something was wrong the second I stepped on his porch.”

Claiming the chair across from Dixie, Tori leaned forward and patted the woman’s arm. “Shhh. It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it.”