Elizabeth Lynn Casey - Southern Sewing Circle 08 - Remnants of Murder (9 page)

Stress. It got to her every single time.

“You’re worried about how the chief is going to react to your visit today. I get that. But you’ve done some research, you have some suspicions, and it’s worth bringing to his attention if for no other reason than peace of mind for Dixie … and for you.”

She closed her eyes and inhaled the calming and supportive presence Milo was in her life. It didn’t matter what crazy idea or cockamamie worry she shared with him, he listened. He understood when she failed to make headway on a particular wedding plan in favor of taking Rose to a doctor’s appointment or pinch-hitting for Margaret Louise with the grandkids. Because when push came to shove, he knew she loved him and she knew he loved her. There were no petty games, no reasons for jealousy, no need to compete against each other’s friends.

“You don’t think I’m a nut for not telling Dixie to figure it out herself?” she whispered into the phone. “Especially after our history together?”

“I don’t think you’re a nut because of
our
history together. I mean, c’mon, Tori. The way you champion your friends is one of the many things I love about you.”

She managed a small laugh. “I wasn’t talking about our history, silly. I was talking about my history with Dixie … specifically the period of time where I was top on her most hated list.”

“And here you are, feeling so strongly about something she believes that you’re willing to put yourself in the crosshairs of yet another person who misjudged you at the start.”

“You say that in the past tense, as if he’s changed his tune where I’m concerned.” She heard the sudden bitterness in her voice and was ashamed. There was a time and place for self-pity where Chief Dallas’s constant scrutiny of her was concerned. Her prized morning phone call with Milo wasn’t that place. “You know what? Let’s pretend I didn’t say that, okay? I think my lack of sleep last night is making me cranky.”

A pause gave way to the kind of encouragement she needed at that moment. “You’ll be fine. Everything you told me on the phone last night made perfect sense. So lay it all out for the chief the same way. If he thinks there’s something there, he’ll take it and run with it. And if not …”

When he failed to continue his sentence, she tightened her grip on the phone. “Why’d you stop?”

“I don’t know, I just did.”

An unfamiliar briskness to his voice made her sit up tall. “Milo? What were you going to say? Tell me. Please.”

Silence filled the space between them, making her doubt whether he was going to acquiesce, but in the end, he finally did, his words sending an unfamiliar shiver down her spine. “If Chief Dallas thinks there’s something there, he’ll take it and run with it. And if not, you fly solo.”

She pulled her gaze from the man with his newspaper and spun back toward her desk, her hand instinctively reaching for the pen. “If he doesn’t think there’s anything to my suspicions, I’ll let it go.”

“No you won’t.”

For the first time since he’d come into her life, Tori heard a resignation that sounded far more tired than playfully supportive. “Milo?”

She imagined him walking down the sidewalk on the way to the elementary school, the day’s lesson plans and hands-on activities housed in the dark brown satchel that served as his school bag. It was a picture she imagined every morning as they wished each other well for the day. This time, though, the smile she always saw and heard wasn’t there, in its place an expression and a demeanor that were as alien to Milo Wentworth as cuddling babies was to Leona.

“I’m sorry, Tori. I don’t mean to get weird on you. Ignore me, okay?”

“Talk to me, Milo.”

After several false starts, he finally answered, his words and their meaning dousing her with a healthy measure of guilt. “I always thought your delayed response to my proposal was because of fear. I mean, who
wouldn’t
be afraid to get married after being engaged to a jerk like Jeff? He had no clue how good he had it with you. But then you said yes and I figured we were good.”

She swallowed against the lump that began to form in the base of her throat. “And we are.”

“Then why haven’t we talked about the meal for the reception? Why haven’t you taken my mom up on her offer to help you look for a dress? Why don’t you ever seem to want to talk about honeymoon possibilities when I ask for your thoughts? The wedding is in six months, Tori.”

Before she could answer, he continued, his trademark optimism noticeably missing from his tone. “I guess I can’t help but wonder if maybe it wasn’t fear that kept you from saying yes but, rather, disinterest in marrying
me
.”

She sucked in a breath. “No! That’s not it at all.”

“Then what is it? Why are you ducking all talk of our wedding?”

She opened her mouth to protest his description of her actions—or lack thereof—but closed it as he changed direction with a hollow laugh. “You know what, now isn’t the time to do this. I’ve got a classroom of third graders waiting to see if our eggs have hatched yet, and you have your detective work to do.”

“I have a detective to
talk
to. There’s a difference.”

“Right now that might be true, but when he shrugs you off, it won’t be.”

An ache coursed through her body like one she’d never felt before, the hint of resignation that accompanied his forced cheeriness, only making her feel worse.

“Milo, I’m just taking the possibility of arsenic poisoning to the chief. What he does with it is on him, not me. I have a wedding to plan and a honeymoon to dream about.”

Her breath hitched at the audible smile she heard on the other end, the temporary reprieve it gave her guilt only shoring up her need to focus on what mattered most. Milo Wentworth was her future. It was time to start treating him—and their upcoming nuptials—as such.

“You have no idea how much I needed to hear that, baby. Thank you.” Milo’s voice deepened as they got to the point of their conversation where he was, undoubtedly, at the steps of the school and ready to sign off for the workday. “So what do you say about coming over tonight for dinner and then looking at some of the brochures I’ve been collecting the past few months.”

“Brochures?” she echoed.

“Yeah. For potential honeymoon spots.”

“How come you haven’t shown them to me if you’ve been collecting them for months?” she teased.

A momentary silence soon reignited the guilt she’d managed to shove to the side. “Well, you were busy with the holiday book festival … and Margaret Louise’s hurt feelings over the Christmas committee … and then the welcome-back-to-work party for Nina … and the stress over what was going to happen to Dixie with Nina coming back … and then Dixie was let go and you were upset about that … and—”

“Okay. I get it,” she whispered. “I’ve been an awful fiancée.”

“Not awful. Just preoccupied. But that’s over now, right?”

“Absolutely.” A knock on her office door made her look up to find a not-so-smiling Leona and a nose-twitching Paris. “You have a great day, okay? And I’ll see you this evening.”

“I’ll see you tonight. I love you, Tori.”

She couldn’t help but smile as she pulled the phone from the side of her face and snapped it closed inside her hand. Life was good. She had a job she loved, a fiancé who was second to none, and friends who—

Her gaze snapped back to the door and her rabbit-holding friend. “Leona, what a nice surprise.”

“Ahhh, yes, your standard run-of-the-mill greeting.” Leona clutched Paris to her bosom as she made a show of looking up and down the hallway before scouring Tori’s office from beneath a raised eyebrow. “Which, if past experience suggests, will soon be followed by an extremely rude click in my ear.”

“Click in your ear?”

“Yes, dear, a click. Like the one Margaret Louise and I were treated to last night.” Leona sashayed herself across the office to the empty chair on the far side of Tori’s desk. “And like the one I was treated to the other day when it was just you and me on the phone together.”

“I—”

“And
why
did I have to hear that? Because you preferred to hobnob with someone who kept a diary on ways to get rid of you up until seven, maybe eight months ago.”

And then she knew.

Twice in as many days, Tori had prematurely ended a telephone conversation with Leona … in favor of Dixie.

She retrieved her pen from the top of the desk and slowly twirled it between her fingers. “Look, about that, I needed to talk to Dixie because …” Her words trailed off as part of what Leona said looped its way back through Tori’s thoughts.

Because you preferred to hobnob with someone who kept a diary on ways to get rid of you up until seven, maybe eight months ago.

Her mouth gaped open as she met Leona’s pointed stare. “Wait. Dixie wanted to get rid of me?”

Leona looked down at the newly manicured fingers on her left hand and nodded, a slow yet satisfied smile making its way across her collagen-enhanced lips. “Like yesterday’s trash, dear.”

She considered her friend’s words. “What kind of ways?”

Waving Tori’s question aside, Leona scooted to the edge of the chair and crossed her ankles delicately to the side. “Oh … you know … a few well-timed accidents, a few tainted treats, a few trips and falls, nothing out of the ordinary, dear.”

“Tainted treats?” she repeated in disbelief. “Trips and falls? You can’t be serious.”

Leona turned her gaze back on Tori. “You don’t believe me, dear? Then perhaps you should inquire about such facts with someone you find more truthful. Like maybe, Mayor Georgina … or Beatrice, the sainted Mary Poppins … or, I don’t know, perhaps the ancient yet always perfect-in-your-eyes Rose Winters.”

She gasped. “Rose knows about this diary?”

“
Everyone
knows, dear.” Then, before she could respond, Leona released a cluck that echoed around the room. “And you’re going to unceremoniously hang up on
me
in order to talk to
her
?”

Tori cast about for something to say while simultaneously processing everything she was hearing. “I—I—”

“For someone who has stood by while I’ve been admonished for supposed loyalty issues, you might want to take a long hard look at yourself in the mirror when you get home today. And if you do, perhaps you might also take the time to notice that you’re still applying your eyeliner much too lightly. You need to darken it up, dear, so your eyes will
pop
.”

She stilled her fingers around the pen. “You’re onto my eyes now?”

“Of course. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t tell you that you look like”—Leona leaned forward a hairbreadth—“
death
, dear.”

Death.

In an instant, her thoughts were right back where they’d been when Milo and then Leona derailed them from the path they’d been on since Dixie first uttered the word
murder
. Inhaling deeply, she took command of the conversation and hoped it was enough to smooth Leona’s ruffled feathers.

“Dixie thinks Clyde Montgomery was murdered.”

“I’m not surprised.”

She dropped her pen and focused, entirely, on the woman seated across from her. “About which part? That Dixie thinks it? Or that Clyde was murdered?”

Leona stood and wandered around the room, her sudden geographical change bringing a flurry of nose twitching from the floor. “When was the last time you came down to the town square, Victoria?”

Leaning back in her chair, she followed Leona around the room with her eyes. “I don’t know, last weekend maybe? When I picked you up for dinner.”

Margaret Louise’s twin sister wound her way around Nina’s empty desk and double backed to Tori’s. “No, I mean, when was the last time you came down to the square and walked through the shops?”

“I don’t know. A couple of months. Christmastime probably.”

“Christmastime,” Leona repeated. “I imagine that’s the answer most everyone in this town would give if asked the same question.”

“What are you getting at, Leona?”

“They’re struggling.
We’re
struggling.”

She studied her friend closely, only to be surprised at the appearance of lines around the woman’s eyes that weren’t normally there. Or if they were, they tended to be covered with the kind of artful expertise befitting the likes of Michelangelo or Monet. “I don’t understand.”

Leona’s false lashes mingled together momentarily before parting to reveal the kind of worry that normally bypassed the carefree sixty-something. “Do you know how many people have even walked through my antique store in the past four months? Maybe ten. And do you know how many of those ten actually made a purchase? Zero.”

“Zero?”

“And do you know why they didn’t make a purchase?” Leona drawled without so much as pausing to allow for an answer. “Because they’ve been through my store a million times and they’ve already purchased whatever it is they wanted to purchase.”

“Okay …”

“I can handle that. Elkin Antiques and Collectibles exists to give me something to do. But Bruce Waters over at Waters Hardware? And Lana Morris at Southern Style Gifts? They need customers so they can eat and so they can pay the mortgage on their shops
and
their homes. So, too, does Caleb Zackary and Joe Neidham and everyone else who owns a shop on the square.”

Tori tried to think of something to say, something to ease the rare show of compassion for mankind now etched across Leona’s face, but she was at a loss. Her thoughts were still centered on Clyde and how her friend had gotten so off topic.

“That man’s selfishness was hurting a lot of good people, Victoria.”

Her ears perked. “That man? You mean, Clyde Montgomery?”

Leona’s head bobbed once, twice. “He was more concerned with being the envy of everyone in Sweet Briar with his picturesque piece of property than he was with the fact that many of those same people were struggling to make it through another day.”

And then it clicked. Suddenly what seemed like sidebar babbling was providing an answer to a question Tori had posed as rhetorical more than anything else.

“So you think there’s a chance Dixie is right? That Clyde’s death may have actually been
murder
?”