Needle and Dread (7 page)

“I was fine. I never eat breakfast. I prefer to start my day with a good book.”

“But I knocked on your door and you didn't answer.”

“That's because I was outside.” Lucinda took in the rest of Margaret Louise's pictures and then carefully folded them back into their pre-accordion state. “Last night, before I retired for the evening, Hannah told me about a lovely walking trail behind the inn. When I woke up, I headed in that direction, looking for a sunny clearing in which to read. Sure enough, I found one. Though, from what I'm hearing from these folks, I might end up wishing I hadn't read as many chapters as I did.”

“Oh?” Miranda asked, setting her glass back down on the table. “Why is that?”

“Because if we're unable to leave this evening as originally scheduled, I'll need more to read.”

“Colby's book'll keep you busy, ain't that right, Victoria?” Margaret Louise took back the album from Lucinda and looked down at it lovingly.

“I wouldn't think of reading a signed first edition,” Lucinda protested. “I wouldn't want to crack the spine.”

Margaret Louise's mouth gaped. “So you ain't gonna read it?”

“Oh, I'll read it. I'll just check my reading copy out of the library when I get home.”

Charles took one last cookie and joined Tori on the couch. “Why wait until you get home? Victoria here is librarian of the Sweet Briar Public Library. She can fix you up with Colby's book and any others you might like to have, can't you, sugar lips?”

Miranda slumped against the wall. “So you know, then . . .”

“About having to stay a little longer than expected? Yes, I just learned of that little fact from Victoria and her friends.”

“That's why I've been trying to find you and Minnie. To tell you what's going on.” Propelling herself away from the wall with a fortifying inhale, Miranda straightened and made her way over to Lucinda. “But don't worry. It's really just a simple case of the police needing to dot their i's and cross their t's. We should be on our way by this time tomorrow, I imagine.”

Margaret Louise's laughter echoed around them. “Spoken like someone who ain't from Sweet Briar, eh, Victoria?”

“I'm sorry, did I miss something?” Miranda asked
as she, once again, pulled her clipboard against her chest.

“You knowin' Chief Dallas.”

At Miranda's obvious confusion, Tori took control of the conversation. “Things, um, can move a little slow around here sometimes.”

“How slow is slow?” Miranda asked.

“S-L-O-W.” Charles spelled out each letter with a snap, looping back to the top of his triangle with the fourth letter. “But that's why we're on the case.”

Miranda looked from Charles to Tori and back again. “On the case?”

“Turns out the three of us are mighty good at investigatin',” Margaret Louise said proudly. “So don't you worry none, Miranda. We'll get you all back on your bus b'fore you know it.”

Covering his mouth over a fake yawn, Charles lowered his voice so as to be heard by no one but Tori. “All but the murderer, that is . . .”

Tori sank back against the door and slowly breathed in the calm that was her home with Milo. In just the short time she'd been there, the sight of his furnishings mixed with hers was like an oasis after a long day—an oasis topped only by the feel of his arms . . .

“Milo?”

She headed down the short front hallway and into the living room, her gaze skirting his couch, her plaid armchair, and the two-person lounge chair they'd picked out together the previous weekend.

No Milo.

Turning right, she headed through the dining room and into the kitchen. Still, there was no Milo to go with the car parked in their single-lane driveway . . .

“Milo? Are you here?”

A quick scraping sound from outside had her making her way toward the back door just as Milo appeared on the other side of its screened panel. “Hey there. I was hoping you'd get home soon.” He held the door open for her and then pulled her in for the warm hug she'd been craving all day. For a few moments he simply held her, his breath warm against her hair. “So how's Rose doing today? Any better?”

“I haven't spoken to her yet today but I will. Later. Right now, I just need to unwind and spend a little much-needed time with you.”

“Music to my ears.” Encasing her hand with his own, he led her over to the Adirondack chairs he'd picked up for them shortly after their honeymoon. “I have a surprise that should help in the unwinding department.”

Curling up in the cozy depths of the chair, she soaked up the sparkle in her husband's eyes, the joy in his smile, and the dimples in his cheeks. And, just like that, the day's nuttiness evaporated into thin air. “I already did.”

“You already did what?”

“Unwind. Just now.”

“By sitting in a chair?” he asked.

“Nope. By looking at you.”

He leaned across the minimal divide between their two chairs and kissed her gently, the feel of his lips on hers as thrilling as ever. But just as things were starting to really heat up, he pulled back and grinned. “While I love where that was heading just now, I have to press pause so I can show you something.”

“
Au contraire
. There is nothing you need to show me that was worth pausing
that
, mister.”

“Oh?” Milo reached over the far side of his chair and hoisted a small white and red plastic bag onto his lap. “Not even pictures from our honeymoon?”

Her answering squeal disrupted a small bird from its meal on the hanging feeder and earned a teasing laugh from the man with the bag. “Hey, ho! Does that mean the usage of the aforementioned pause button was, indeed, a good move?”

“Milo!”

Pulling the bag just out of her reach, his grin took on a mischievous edge. “Well, does it?”

She rolled her eyes in the best Leona impression she could muster and then added a dose of the woman's infamous eye-batting. “Yes . . .”

“Okay, Leona,” he joked back before stuffing his hand into the bag and removing the first of six picture sleeves from the local drug store's photo department. “
Anyyywayyy
, I know we'd been talking about getting these printed over the Thanksgiving break, but after yesterday, I figured you could use a dose of Smoky Mountain happiness.”

“You mean, Milo-and-Tori-without-a-care-in-the-world happiness.” At his emphatic nod, she dropped her feet back to the ground just long enough to scoot her chair up against his. “Wait. You haven't looked at these yet, have you?”

“I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted to check them out the second the clerk handed them to me, but I resisted.” With a flick of his wrist, he flipped open the envelope and pulled out the first stack of photographs, the top picture eliciting a peaceful sigh from both of them. The snapshot, which had been taken by a fellow
hiker, had Milo's left arm around her and his right thumb pointed upward, signaling their successful trek up the steep and winding mountain trail. They looked winded but proud, and oh so very happy and in love.

“Oh. Wow. That's a good one,” Milo said, his voice husky with the same emotion that had Tori ducking the side of her head against his shoulder.

“It's perfect.”

With a resistance that was palpable, he moved the picture to the bottom of the stack to reveal another snapshot. “Wow. I truly hit the lottery with you. You're smart, fun, sweet, and stunningly gorgeous. I mean, look at you. You're radiant.”

She bit back the urge to self-deprecate and stared at her image. There was no denying it, she was positively beaming as she looked at the camera. “I can assure you, any radiance you see had everything to do with the handsome husband behind the camera.”

“Okay, momentary un-pause.” He kissed her again and then followed it up with a gentle tap of her nose. “Now let's keep looking. These are incredible so far . . .”

Picture by picture they made their way through the first stack—shots of Milo being silly, shots of Tori laughing, and the occasional shot together thanks to the kindness of a stranger. They were all different, yet each one captured a moment of their magical time together. “I was hoping we'd have a really good one or two to frame, but now I'm thinking a few framed collages might be in order,” she said.

“Considering this is only the first envelope of pictures, I suspect you're right.” Milo set the envelope beside him on the chair and reached into the bag for another.
“Which, by the way, is fine with me. The more reminders we have of that week, the better.”

“We'll need to save some wall space for future trips . . .”

“So true. Which reminds me . . .” He stopped just shy of removing the second stack of pictures from their sleeve and smiled across at Tori. “What do you think of us maybe taking off for a few nights during my Christmas break? Think Nina could cover you at the library?”

“I don't know, but I can ask.”

“Okay, cool. If she can, I'll look into making a reservation.”

She rested her head on Milo once again and reveled in his nearness and his warmth. “Do you have a specific location in mind, or are you just plotting at this point?”

“I'm thinking it might be kind of cool to check out Lancaster County in the winter.”

“Amish country?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Ooh, I'd love that.” She straightened up as her thoughts veered momentarily in the direction of the day she really didn't want to resurrect in its entirety just yet. “Maybe we could find a quaint little bed-and-breakfast to stay in while we're there? Like maybe one that's in a really pretty Victorian with a wraparound porch.”

His laugh warmed her even before he captured her hand in his. “If Nina can cover you, I'll do my best to find a place just like that. It sounds pretty special—although Pennsylvania in late December might not be conducive to porch sitting.”

“That's okay. If we love the place, we can go back in the spring when it
is
porch-sitting weather.”

He whispered a kiss across her temple. “You're on.”

For the next half hour, they looked at each and every picture, recalling aloud the memories that went with them. There were snapshots of their honeymoon cabin, snapshots of their white-water rafting trip (they got drenched), snapshots of their dinners out and the private ones back at their cabin, too. All were special, yet their favorites were always the ones that showed them together. The happiness on their faces was contagious even now, six weeks later.

When they reached the very last picture of the very last envelope, Milo returned them all to the bag. “I think that was a pretty good unwinding pause, don't you?”

“The best.” And it was. Something about losing herself in such a happy, uncomplicated time made the fog of the past twenty-four hours lift enough to let clarity rush in. “Oh, Milo, I want more than anything to put what happened in Rose's shop to bed for her, but I have a feeling it's not going to be easy.”

“Why do you say that?”

“We just don't really know anything about the players beyond the fact they like to sew and maybe a few things gleaned from idle chitchat.” She stood and made her way over to the edge of the patio. “That's
it
.”

“Okay . . .”

Spinning around, she splayed her hands out to the side, the frustration she'd managed to shove to the side for a little while now back with a vengeance. “It's mighty hard to build a case against someone when you've got nothing to go on—no background information or current anything that might be able to lend itself to a motive.”

“So you get to know them.”

“We tried that today with Lucinda Penning—the first person in our notebook. We went out to the bed-and-breakfast where she and the others are staying.”

“And?”

Tori wandered over to one of the planters Rose had gifted them, and tried to pick out any sign of life taking hold in the soil, but there was nothing. “We learned that she doesn't read any of the signed first-edition books she collects. Those are left untouched. She goes to her local library and checks out a second copy that she actually reads.

“Oh, and she got the complete rundown—with pictures, of course—of Melissa and Jake's crew.”

Milo linked his hands behind his head and laughed. “So Margaret Louise was with you . . .”

“And Charles. Margaret Louise drove.”

“Uh-oh. How did Charles do with that?”

Tori shrugged and headed toward the second of the two planters. Still, there was no sign of anything even remotely resembling a plant. “He was a little green around the gills when we first got to Debbie's, but she gave him a paper bag for the ride out to the inn, and that seemed to help.”

“He got sick?”

“No. It kept him from hyperventilating.”

“Ah. I see.” He dropped his hands onto the arms of his chair and pushed himself onto his feet. With two long strides, he was looking over her shoulder into the planter. “What's so fascinating in there?”

“Absolutely nothing. My thumb is the antithesis of green.” She turned to face Milo and stepped into his waiting arms, the feel of his chest against her cheek a
welcome reprieve from the stress she felt building once again. “Lucinda is just one person on our list, Milo. If what we got from her is any indication of how it's going to go with everyone else, we'll still be trying to figure out who did it when I'm old and gray.”

“Old and gray, huh?” He kissed the top of her head and let his lips linger there for a moment. “I can only imagine how cute you're going to be when we're old. I'm picturing a little bit of Rose and Margaret Louise all rolled into one.”

“Margaret Louise doesn't necessarily qualify as old yet.”

“But she's a doting grandma,” Milo mused. “Which is exactly how I think you're going to be when the time comes—pictures and all.”

She reveled in the surprisingly fun image and then shook it off. As much as she loved the notion of dreaming away the remainder of the day, Opal's murder was still an issue for Rose. “I only wish we had a better base with which to work. Like maybe some inside knowledge of each of these women's lives.”

“So get some.”

Cocking her head back, she peered up at her husband. “That's what we tried to do today, but there's only so much you can get in one conversation.”

“In the lobby of a bed-and-breakfast, maybe. But here, maybe not.”

“Here?” she echoed.

“Yes.”

“You lost me, Milo.”

“You're having a sewing circle meeting here tomorrow night, aren't you?”

“Yes . . .”

“These women like to sew, don't they?”

“Yes . . .”

“And they're kind of trapped here until Chief Dallas has whatever he needs, right?”

She bypassed the verbal response and simply went with a nod.

“Well, it seems to me that maybe you should invite them to your sewing circle meeting.”

“Invite them to our—” She stopped, bookended Milo's face with her palms, and rose up on her tiptoes to kiss his forehead. “Milo Wentworth, you are a genius, do you know that?”

He bobbled his head in a show of drama-filled humility and then tapped her on the nose. “About
this
? Not really. About
marrying you
? Genius doesn't come close to cutting it.”

“I love you, you crazy, crazy man.”

“Crazy about you, yes.” He captured her hands with his and held them to his lips for the briefest of moments before releasing them and pointing to the grill. “You want me to cook tonight?”

“No way. After the honeymoon pictures and your idea just now, I think it's more than fair I repay you by making your favorite dinner.”

His eyebrows shot upward. “Lasagna?”

“With garlic bread.” She pivoted on the balls of her feet and headed back across the stone patio. At the back door, she glanced over her shoulder and winked. “After that, maybe we can get back to dessert.”