Sew Deadly (30 page)

The second she walked in the door she could feel a lift in her spirits, a momentary reprieve from a sleepless night spent scrutinizing everything she knew and imagining what she didn’t. Troubled thoughts that were still lodged firmly in her mind yet could stand to be set aside long enough to order a cup of hot chocolate and a donut.

Tori cast a precursory glance around Debbie’s Bakery for Milo, only to come up short. Which was okay. She needed a sugar boost before planning a course of action that would rattle the town of Sweet Briar to its very core.

“It’s good to see you again.” Emma Adams popped up from behind the register, a genuine smile lighting her face. “Back for some more black and white cookies?”

“Hmmmm. I wasn’t planning on it . . . but okay, yeah, I’ll take one—no, make it two of those in a bag and . . .” She studied the glass case filled with mostly breakfast selections—pound cakes, donuts, flavored breads, and bagels. “Do those chocolate-covered donuts have custard in them by any chance?”

Emma peeked through from her side of the case, her head nodding as she pulled the tray outward. “They sure do.”

Yum.

“Okay, I’ll take one of those and a cup of hot chocolate, too. Only those are for here.”

“Gotcha.” Emma pulled a plate from the countertop behind the glass case and placed a chocolate-covered donut on top. Setting that on the counter beside the register, she moved with ease toward the drink station. “Whipped cream on that hot chocolate?”

“Yes, please.”

“That’ll be five dollars,” Emma said over her shoulder as she stirred Tori’s drink with a red plastic stick. “I just made a fresh batch of whipped cream not more than twenty minutes ago so it should be extra good.”

Double yum.

“I’m sure it will be.” Tori swung her purse onto the small overhang beside the register and fished out five crisp dollar bills. As she waited for Emma to finish her order and take the money, she skimmed the various photographs that graced the brown pegboard behind the register. Cooper Riley’s photograph—dead center just a week earlier—had been replaced by a new one of Jackson Calhoun.

Hmmmm. Trouble in paradise . . .

She felt her lips tug upward at the sight of Milo’s reflection in the small rectangular mirror above Jackson’s picture, the man’s rumpled hair and tired eyes every bit as endearing as they were pitiful. Spinning around, she let the smile play out across her mouth.

“Rough night, huh?”

He ran a hand through his hair and nodded. “You, too?”

“I’m counting on my donut to give me a boost. Otherwise I may fall asleep at the table.”

Milo laughed. “Good tip. Otherwise I may have assumed you found me infinitely boring.”

“You? Never.” But even as she joked, she knew it could never be the case. Milo Wentworth was fun, kind, compassionate, and the kind of man she’d enjoy getting to know on a deeper level.

“I’m glad.” He swept his gaze across her face and down her body. “How come you look so good for someone who didn’t sleep?”

She felt her face grow warm at his compliment, her hands instinctively smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her white blouse and tan slacks. “Probably because your eyes are more than a little bleary.”

“They’re not that blear—”

“Okay, here’s your drink.” Emma reappeared behind the register. With expert hands the girl swapped Tori’s drink for the money owed and gestured to the cookie bag and donut plate on the overhang. “If you need anything let me know.”

“Thanks, Emma.” To Milo, she said, “I’ll meet you at our table.”

“
Our
table?” A twinkle appeared in his eyes. “That’s got a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Uh—I—I’ll meet you there.” As she walked away she mentally chided herself for sounding so foolish. Sure, she was finding it harder and harder to deny the attraction she felt to Lulu’s teacher. How else could she explain the butterflies in her stomach when he appeared unexpectedly, or the warmth she felt all over when he first walked in a room? No, that wasn’t the issue. Figuring out just how far she did or didn’t want it to go was the part that needed to be examined.

But not now.

They had more pressing matters to discuss.

Like how you go about seeking justice for a crime when the perpetrator is related to everyone in an authoritative position? And if everyone in the sewing circle was so reluctant to believe
Dixie
was up to no good . . . then how on earth could she ever expect them to accept
Georgina
as an extortionist?

Not to mention a murderer.

She plunked her cup, bag, and plate onto the table and sank into a chair, the promise of chocolate and sugar no longer holding any appeal. The dots she’d connected during the wee hours of the morning had created a pretty clear picture.

Georgina Hayes had not only broken the law by selling a service she had no right to sell, but she also had a pretty clear motive for yet another crime, one far more sinister and unforgivable than anyone could imagine.

Yet Tori’d imagined it. Again and again throughout the night, her mind unable to find the plot holes her heart was desperate to find. And when she’d looked up potassium cyanide and its potential uses, any hope she was wrong all but disappeared.

The only remaining sticking point was Georgina herself. Women who showed up on your doorstep bearing brownies and an invitation to make friends didn’t kill people. They just didn’t.

Or, at least, they weren’t supposed to . . .

“So, how are you
really
doing?” Milo asked as he set his cup and plate on the table and claimed the empty chair.

She looked down at her donut and simply pushed the plate away. “Not too good.”

“I figured that.” Gently he scooted her plate back, his brows knitted with worry. “But you have to eat. You’re going to need your strength.”

“Why? I’m going to lose every last friend I have when the truth comes out.” Wrapping her hand around her cup, she waited for the warmth to counteract the growing chill in her body, but it didn’t happen. “Georgina is like a
sister
to these women.”

He shrugged. “But sometimes you’ve got to step back and let a family member take their lumps.”

“Lumps? Isn’t that trivializing things just a little bit?” Tori stared at the donut, her stomach not the slightest bit interested. “I mean she’s done something
illegal
. That brings jail time.”

Lifting a fist to his mouth, Milo exhaled, his cheeks deflating rapidly before he dropped his hand back to the table and met her gaze head-on. “A
lot
of jail time if she’s guilty of worse.”

Guilty of worse?

She squirmed beneath his gaze, the sudden pounding of her heart drowning out all noises around them. Did he see it? Did he think it was possible, too?

Gripping her mug between her hands, she swallowed—hard. “Does that mean . . . does that mean you think she may have”—she swallowed again—“she may have killed Tiffany Ann to keep her quiet?”

He reached out, rested his hand on her forearm. “I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that’s a question I feel awful entertaining. Georgina Hayes is a great mayor and an even better person.”

Closing her eyes, she nodded, her voice barely audible to her own ears, let alone anyone else’s. “
I know.
I met Rose and Debbie and Margaret Louise
because
of her. And if it wasn’t for those three and”—she opened her eyes and looked at him—“you, I’d not only be the lonely outsider, but I’d be the lonely murder suspect, too.”

Milo slid his hand down her forearm, sought her hand with his. “You’re not alone. And you’re not going to be a murder suspect for long.”

She reveled in the feel of his fingers entwined with hers, felt the boost it provided to her confidence. “You’re right. I’m not. I just wish my positive didn’t have to be someone else’s negative.”

“I see what you’re saying, I really do. But you deserve so much better, and Tiffany Ann’s family deserves justice.”

He rubbed the top of her hand with his thumb, a gesture that brought the warmth her hot chocolate had failed to provide.

“Justice,” she repeated softly. “Justice for Tiffany Ann.”

“That’s right. It’s the only thing we can—”

The familiar notes of her cell phone interrupted Milo’s words, the sound bringing more than a few perturbed looks in their direction. Shrugging an apology to her companion and the unfamiliar patrons at nearby tables, Tori pulled the phone from her purse and checked the caller ID screen.

Stu Walker.

“I’m sorry, I have to take this,” she offered to Milo as she flipped open the handset and held it to her ear. “This is Tori.”

“Miss Sinclair? This is Stu. Stu Walker. From Ridge Cove.” The staccato cadence to the man’s words made her sit tall in her seat as she pulled her hand from Milo’s and placed it against her free ear. “I don’t know who else to call. I tried the number on the papers but got some daggone message. I called county but they take forever. Then I remembered you live in Sweet Briar.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her words causing more than a few heads to turn in her direction.

“I found Travis. In the creek bed. He’s been there a mighty long time.”

Found Travis in the creek bed?

The man’s haunted words took root in her mind and she gasped. “You mean he’s—”

“Dead,” Stu finished, his dread mirrored in her heart.

“But how-how did it happen?”

“I’m guessin’ he was strangled on account of the rope around his throat.”

She closed her eyes in an effort to prevent the table from spinning any faster. “Strangled?” she repeated in a choked whisper.

“Sure ’nuff.”

“Tori, what’s going on?” Milo leaned across the table and touched her face, searched her now wide-open eyes with his own. “Who is that?”

She shook her head as she pulled the phone closer. “You think he’s-he’s been there awhile?”

“Since that last mornin’ I saw him.”

Her hand left her ear and grabbed hold of the table. “Why? I mean, how do you know?”

“There’s not much left of him. Seems the animals have gotten hold o’ him pretty well. But the clothes . . . they’re the same.”

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as I’m Stu Walker.”

Instantly her mind began sifting through everything Stu had told her about that morning, questions firing through her mind faster than she could ask them. “So he handed you back the Sweet Briar contract and then left?”

“He’d already given me the paperwork first thing that mornin’ . . . I needed it to show Miss Gilbert when I was givin’ her the tour. And I didn’t see him leave. The Sweet Briar representative just told me they’d talked and all was well.”

“Didn’t he have a car?” she asked.

“Nah. Travis just walked through the forest and across the field to get to my place. It’s why he liked the setup.”

Maybe he’d fallen on the way—

He was strangled.

“You need to call county. Right away,” she urged.

“I did. But if it’s like normal, they won’t be ’round until sometime after nightfall.”

“Did you tell them you found a body?” she whispered into the phone.

“Makes little difference with those fellas. That’s why I bought the services from Sweet Briar. Though, between you and me, I can’t help but feel I just got scammed out of ten thousand dollars.”

“Probably because you
did
.”

“What?” The man’s troubled voice turned to anger. “Wait a minute little lady, are you in on this?”

“No. I just kind of stumbled on it.”

“I swear someone’s gonna pay for this.”

“You’re right, Mr. Walker. She is.” Slowly but surely any reservation she’d been feeling dissipated, in its place a sense of resolve. Milo was right. Justice needed to be served no matter who got caught in the cross fire. “You focus on Travis . . . wait for county to show up. In the meantime I’ll do everything I can to get to the bottom of your contract with Sweet Briar.”

She snapped the phone closed in her hand and stared at it. “Milo, why would Georgina sign something like that? Didn’t she know she’d get caught? I mean, the first time something major happened she had to know it would come out.” She fisted her hand around the phone, the corners of the flat metal handset digging into her skin. “Poor Travis.”

“Who’s Travis? Who was strangled?”

Words poured from her mouth as her thoughts continued on the same loop. “I mean, why on earth would she sign her name to something like that? She signed her
name
, Mil—”

“I’m beginning to wonder how your Colby, bless his heart, can sign hundreds of books on any given day. Thirty papers nearly did me in.”

The phone dropped from her hand as she grabbed hold of the table once again, Georgina’s words from that second sewing circle rushing her thoughts. Were
those
the papers she’d been signing?

And
thirty
?

“Oh, Milo,” she whispered. “What happens if Ridge Cove isn’t the only one she scammed? What happens if she went after some of the other rural towns?”

“Then she’s in even more trouble than we realized.” Milo raked his hand over his face, his shoulders tense. “I guess it’s a little naïve to hope she didn’t know.”

“Yeah, ri—”

“Thank heavens I didn’t have to read them.”

She clapped her hands to her mouth. Was it possible? Really possible?

“I’ve been signing a lot of paperwork for Thomas the last week or so. He’s compiling a few petitions to lobby for the rights of seniors on the state level and he thinks it would help their fight if they had some mayoral signatures. He’s hoping my name will carry clout.”

“And gain instant trust,” she whispered.

“Trust? Trust who?” Milo reached across the table and pried her hands from her mouth. “Tori, what’s going on? Please . . . talk to me.”

She forced her eyes to focus on the man sitting across from her, a man who’d brought a smile to her face the moment she’d seen his reflect—

His reflection. In the mirror.

In an instant the threads began to come together. Threads that had seemed so inconsequential one strand at a time, yet created an entirely new entity when brought together.