Sew Deadly (23 page)

She blinked back the tears that threatened to slip down her face if she uttered a word of response.

“But you have to know that all eyes
aren’t
looking at you. They really aren’t.” He released her arm, tilting her face upward until their eyes met. “I’m not. Nina’s not. Debbie Calhoun’s not. Rose Winters isn’t. And neither is Margaret Louise Davis.”

“I know but—”

“Leona Elkin isn’t and the board members aren’t.”

She knew her laugh sounded hollow, bitter even. But it was all she could do to keep from screaming.
Leona?
Leona was probably readying the jail for her stay at that very moment.

She said as much to Milo.

“I think you’re wrong. You see, you were reeling from the investigator’s words Wednesday night . . . as anyone in your position would have. But
I
saw the way Leona looked at him. She was not impressed. Not in the slightest.”

A brief ray of hope zipped through her body before she squashed it like a bug.

“That meeting was forty-eight hours ago, Milo. She couldn’t have been too outraged.”

His hand dropped from her face, scooped her hand from her lap, and held it tightly. “People do things at their own pace, Tori.”

She shrugged, her senses all too aware of his hand on hers. “I suppose. Though I sure wish Investigator McGuire would pick up the pace in his investigation a little bit more. I’m not sure how much longer I can handle the constant scrutiny and never-ending looks.”

“He just needs to find the right person.”

“You mean,
I
need to find the right person.” She traced the fingers of her free hand across the top of his, pulling them back as she realized what she was doing. “I can’t help but feel as if Tiffany’s mood the day of her murder is the key to all of this. I mean, wouldn’t
you
be jumpy and edgy if you were afraid for your life?”

He stared at her. “You think she knew someone was after her?”

“Well why not? I mean, if you listen to everyone talk, she was this sweet-as-pie, picture-perfect local girl whom everyone loved, even if they didn’t always believe what she had to say. I can’t imagine someone would kill her for no reason. And if she was suddenly acting all weird and out of character doesn’t that make you wonder—even a little bit?”

“Yeah, I guess it does. But it’s like you said—everyone loved her.”

“Maybe the love wasn’t as strong for some as it was for others.” She thought back on her conversation with Emma Adams, the way the girl had obviously been jealous of Tiffany Ann’s good looks. She recalled the obsessive nature Cooper had displayed when he talked about his ex-girlfriend. . . .

“It will work out somehow.” Milo turned her hand over in his and peered down at it, a shy smile teasing his lips.

“Oh, Milo, I hope you’re right.”

“What’s going on in here? I thought the room would be ready to go by now.” Margaret Louise breezed into the room, her lips twitching at the sight of Tori and Milo sitting on the ground together. “Didn’t your parents ever lecture you guys on holding off the hanky-panky until
after
you got your work done?”

“
Hanky-panky
—Margaret Louise, there’s nothing going on.” Tori pushed Milo’s hand from hers and stood. “I was trying to work on the room and—”

“Miss Sinclair, Miss Sinclair, have you done my picture yet?” Lulu ran around the corner and stopped, her face falling at the sight of the near empty room.

“Not yet, Lulu.” Tori scrunched her brows together.

“Remember our mystery?”

The little girl nodded. “About the missing sticks and stuff?”

“Exactly.” She reached out and smoothed the child’s hair from her face. “Now there’s another one.”

“Really?” Lulu’s eyes grew wide as saucers as she bent her head close to Tori for more details.

“The overhead projector I need to put your pictures on the wall has disappeared. Poof! Just like the sticks. Only this time I’m not sure your dad can help me out.”

“What’s a pro—a pro—”

“A projector,” Margaret Louise and Milo supplied in unison.

“Yeah,
that
.” Lulu lifted her face expectantly as she waited for Tori to explain.

“It’s a box about this big.” Tori motioned with her hands to show the approximate size of the object in question. “And it has a little arm that comes out of the back and shines a light onto a picture and then magnifies it onto the wall.” She grabbed a piece of blank paper from the stack of pictures beside Milo and drew a sketch of a projector. “It looks like this.”

“Oh.” Lulu looked around the room, her gaze lifting upward until it focused on the ceiling. “Whoa, Mee-Maw, look—clouds! Big puffy clouds!”

“You like those?” Tori asked, anxious to get some initial feedback on the progress she’d made.

“I love ’em! Wait ’til Jennifer sees those. She loves clouds, too!” Lulu began skipping around the room, her initial excitement resurrected. “And when we find your pro—your pro thing—you can make the walls all pretty, too.”

Tori’s shoulders slumped as she turned and looked at Margaret Louise. “You wouldn’t by chance know anyone who could spare a projector for a few days, do you?”

“I most certainly do. Colby Calhoun has a projector. It’s one of those portable ones. He uses it when he gives talks. I’ve seen it myself a half dozen times or more.”

Her hope lifted. “Do you think he’d let me use it?”

“Of course he will. Colby and Debbie are cut from the same cloth. Knowing him, he’ll deliver it himself before we’re even off the phone.”

“Oh Margaret Louise, that would be perfect.”

“You want it now?” Lulu’s grandmother pulled a cell phone from her overly stuffed purse and flipped it open.

Tori glanced at her clock. “How about tomorrow by noon? I’ll be in Ridge Cove first thing in the morning hitting up flea markets.”

“Whatever for?” Margaret Louise asked.

“A trunk for the storybook costumes. Nina thinks I should be able to find one for no more than twenty-five dollars.”

“You’ll find aplenty for that kind of money.” The woman took hold of her granddaughter’s hand and headed toward the door. “And it’s a good thing you’re getting it now because Rose has handed out costume assignments and accompanying threats if they’re not done by Friday.”

“Threats?” she asked, amusement mingling with her words.

“Mine is no new recipes from anyone in the circle for a year if I don’t get my Little Red Riding Hood outfit done in time.”

A low whistle escaped Milo’s lips. “No new recipes? Man, that woman is tough.”

“Tough will be the conniption fit she’ll throw if we don’t produce.” Margaret Louise and Lulu waved as they stepped into the hallway. “I’ll call Colby first thing in the mornin’ after I drop Lulu and her brothers and sisters off at Dixie’s house. Dixie is havin’ a birthday party for her granddaughter and every one of Jake’s kids are invited, bless her heart.”

“Thanks, Margaret Louise.” Tori walked over to the door and poked her head into the hallway. “Have fun, Lulu.”

“I will.”

Margaret Louise looked back over her shoulder and winked. “I’d tell you the same thing but I think you’re a little too old to need permission.”

“Permission for wh—” The woman’s words turned in her thoughts, the reality of their meaning bringing a flush to her cheeks and a tickle to her throat. “Margaret Louise! There’s nothing going on.”

“Well maybe there
should
be.”

Chapter 16

She hadn’t realized just how much she’d been craving a little distance from all things Sweet Briar until she turned her car north on Route 190, the white picket fences and moss-draped trees that surrounded the town square disappearing in her rearview mirror. But as she maneuvered the narrow two-lane route that led in and out of her new hometown, the need she’d been unaware of was suddenly undeniable.

The possibility to love Sweet Briar was there, its small-town charm and picturesque setting hard to ignore. But being singled out as a murder suspect because you hadn’t grown up with everyone else was more than a little disheartening. Especially when she’d just come from a town where no one knew anyone yet trust was easier to earn.

Flipping on the radio, Tori scanned her way from station to station, her choices limited to country, bluegrass, and their various offshoots. It was the kind of music she could learn to like, each song telling a story of some sort. But not today. Today she needed to be true to herself, to stop trying to fit herself into a box made by other people’s expectations. And, even more importantly, she needed a break from the worry of whether people believed in her or not.

Pulling her eyes from the road for just a moment, she grabbed her travel CD case and unzipped it, her hands instinctively finding the page that held her favorite pick-me-up music of all time and extracting the disc from the fabric sleeve. With a flick of her wrist and the push of a button, the dance track she’d compiled back in college wafted its way through each of the car’s four speakers, and she began singing along at the top of her lungs.

She bypassed the air conditioner in favor of open windows, savoring the feel of the wind against her arms and face as she bopped along to the music. Suddenly the stress of lost objects and the humiliation of being a suspect in Tiffany Ann’s murder seemed a million miles away, the deserted road and rapid speed putting much-needed distance between herself and events she couldn’t control. It also gave her time to think, to remember Jeff’s betrayal and to realize the pain wasn’t nearly as raw as it once was. Somehow, someway, her aching heart had started to heal, a fact that surprised as much as it pleased.

Were the events of the past week that all-encompassing? Had she simply traded one hurt for another? Or was it something more?

Like Milo?

Gripping the steering wheel more firmly, Tori forced herself to focus on the lyrics of the song she had cranked up as high as it could go, to hit every note the artist hit at just the right time. The last thing she needed on top of everything else was to fall for a man. A man who’d already married his soul mate only to lose her much too soon.

What difference did it make that he was good-looking and sweet, honest and caring, and supportive as all get-out? Jeff had seemed to be all those things at one time, too. And look how
that
turned out.

The ring of her cell phone cut through her woolgather ing, snapping her mind back to the present. “Who the—” She lifted her phone from the center console and stared at the unfamiliar number on the caller ID screen, her curiosity winning out over the desire to keep singing. “Hello?”

“Victoria?” She strained to pick out the voice, to put a face to its sound, but other than her late great-grandmother no one called her by her given name. Except, of course, the people of Sweet Briar.

Ooooh.
Maybe, if she were really lucky, Dixie Dunn was calling to complain about a page in one of the library books that looked as if it had actually been
turned
.

“Victoria, it’s Debbie. Debbie Calhoun.”

With any luck the wind in the car softened the sigh of relief she exhaled into the woman’s ear. “Debbie, hi. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. I hope you don’t mind, but I asked Nina for your number when I called the library this morning.”

“You asked what? Wait—wait one minute,” she said as she muted one of her favorite songs, “Holding Out for a Hero.” “I’m sorry, I tend to play my music a little loud in the car.”

Debbie’s staccato laugh filled her ear for a moment before she began singing a few bars of the song Tori had just stopped. “I understand. I do the exact same thing when the kids aren’t with me. It’s the only time I get to listen to my stuff.”

Tori glanced out the window at the small green sign on the side of the road—Ridge Cove, fifteen miles. “So, I’m sorry, what were you saying before I turned it down?”

“Just that I got your number from Nina and am hoping you don’t mind.”

She pulled her eyes back to the road, instinctively shook her head. “Of course not. What can I do for you?”

“Not a thing. I just wanted you to know that Colby will be dropping off his projector with Nina in about thirty minutes.”

“Oh, Debbie, you guys are lifesavers—thank you so much.” She switched her cell phone to her left hand and guided the car with her right. “I take it Margaret Louise called?”

“First thing this morning.” A shriek in the background made Tori pull the phone from her ear momentarily. “I’m sorry, Victoria. Jackson is having a minor meltdown. It happens sometimes. Anyway, what’s with all your stuff disappearing?”

“Margaret Louise told you about that?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t know. Just a few extra little treats to try and drive me over the edge.” As soon as she spoke the words, she wished she could take them back. Instead, she engaged in a hefty dose of backpedaling. “Not that I’m close to the edge or that I’d do anything crazy. I’m really a very mild-mannered person. Really.”

Could she sound any more lame? She groaned inwardly.

“Victoria, please don’t worry about everything you say. I’ve been driven over the edge so many times I think I’ve worn a path. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to kill someone. I
know
that.”