Sew Deadly (19 page)

“No.”

His hands reached across the table, tugged hers down with his own. “You said yourself you were going through boxes in the storage room that entire day. Isn’t it possible she made it inside and you just didn’t see her?”

“I guess, I just—”

“Who was manning the library?” Debbie asked.

“Nina was,” Milo supplied for a speechless Tori.

“Maybe you need to talk to her.” Debbie rose to her feet, patting Tori’s shoulder as she stood. “But either way, we expect to see you tomorrow night, Victoria. You need to tell us what costumes you need for the children’s room.”

“Oh. Okay. Thanks.” Tori forced a smile to her lips as she watched the mother of two gather her stuff from behind the counter, wave to her employee, and then disappear through the swinging doors that led to her office.

“You should go, Tori. You have every right to be there.” Milo’s finger grazed the underside of her chin as he redirected her focus back on him. “And Debbie is right, you need to talk to Nina. See what she has to say when you see her at work tomorrow.”

“If Tiffany Ann had made it into the library that day, Nina would have told me. I know she would have. . . .”

And then she remembered. Nina’s words echoing through her thoughts almost as surely as if she was sitting right there at the table with her and Milo.

“I guess . . . I guess I just wish I could have taken it away from her.”

Tori gripped the edge of the table once again as the room began to spin.

Nina hadn’t meant the tragedy itself. She’d meant the
coffee
.

Chapter 13

Rose Winter’s home was by far the most modest of the bunch with its small one-story cottagelike exterior. Unlike Debbie’s and Georgina’s homes, this one had just two windows facing front and a narrow porch that failed to wrap around the sides. Nonetheless, it exuded an undeniable warmth and charm that made you long to close yourself up inside its walls with a good book or a pair of strong arms.

The walkway, bordered on both sides by freshly planted yellow and white mums, conveyed a welcoming feel almost as if it was pulling you inward, begging you to come and stay for a while. The small front porch boasted a pair of rocking chairs and a small wicker table perfect for a pitcher of lemonade and a couple of glasses.

“See? I told you, Victoria, having just one chair on your front porch doesn’t work. You want to fit in—you get another chair. Or
two
.” Margaret Louise huffed her way up the steps behind Tori, stopping long enough to lift the aluminum foil lid that covered the librarian’s dish. “Are those miniature Black Forest tortes?”

“They most certainly are.” Tori pulled the foil back even further to afford her friend a better look. “My great-grandmother used to make these for special occasions. Like holiday gatherings and birthday parties.”

Leona’s twin sister leaned even closer, inhaling the dessert’s aroma like that of a fine wine. “You didn’t use a boxed cake mix.”

“Me? A boxed cake mix? You can’t be serious.” A laugh escaped her mouth as she leaned forward and hugged the woman. “Actually, I may have given in to temptation and taken the easy route if it weren’t for the fact I’m trying to make a good impression.”

“Store-bought whipped cream?”

“Nope. I made that from scratch, too.”

Margaret Louise pursed her lips as she replaced the foil across the plate and straightened up. “Black Forest tortes . . . from scratch? You’re in, Victoria.”

“If only it was that simple.” She folded the edges of the foil around the plate and shifted it to her other hand, the tote bag with her pillow and sewing box dangling from her wrist. “I don’t think a homemade dessert is going to make everyone forget there’s a murder suspect in their midst.”

“It’s a start.” The woman tucked her arm inside Tori’s and pulled her toward the door. “People who make Black Forest tortes for their fellow sewing circle members don’t poison coffee.”

“What about people who make coffee?” The second the words were out she regretted them. She’d vowed to herself on the way over she wasn’t going to talk about Tiffany Ann’s murder. If it came up, she’d deal with it then. But if it didn’t, she’d count her blessings.

Margaret Louise pulled her hand from Rose’s front door. “People who make coffee? What are you talking about, Victoria?”

“Can I tell you later?” Tori waved at Rose as the elderly woman approached the door. “I want to avoid the topic of Tiffany Ann as much as possible.”

“As if that’ll happen, bless your heart.” Margaret Louise yanked the screen door open and stepped inside, Tori blinking in her wake.

She knew the woman was right. The likelihood of making it all the way through sewing circle without the biggest news story to ever hit Sweet Briar being discussed was wishful thinking.

Still, she couldn’t help but wish for it anyway as she gazed up at a sky still too light for stars.

“I’m glad to see you listened, Victoria.” Rose tugged the edges of her sweater tighter against her body as she backed up to let Tori pass.

“I am, too.” She handed the plate to Rose and swept her hand toward the door. “Your front walkway is absolutely beautiful. I love the yellow mums, they’re so cheerful.”

“Thank you, Victoria.” The elderly woman set the plate down on a nearby counter and took Tori by the arm. “I want you to see something.”

As she walked with the woman down a small hallway off the kitchen, Tori couldn’t help but marvel at the way the ice had begun to melt between them. The woman who’d studied her with such coolness at Debbie’s home was emerging as one of her biggest supporters.

“This is my special room.” Rose stopped as they reached a doorway halfway down on the left. “It’s where I sit and sew.”

Tori gasped as she took in the small room with little more than a cushioned wicker chair, a gooseneck lamp, and a large picture window that took up the entire back wall.

“Oh, Rose. This looks just like my great-grandmother’s room.”

Pleased, Rose rubbed Tori’s lower arm with her cold fingers. “I suspected you’d think that after you described it to me the other night.”

She nibbled her lower lip inward, resisted the urge to cry as hard as she could. “It’s perfect, Rose. Just perfect.”

Slowly the woman moved her head as close to Tori’s ear as she could. When her mouth was mere inches away, she spoke. “You are welcome to sew here anytime you want. Especially those costumes for the dress-up trunk.”

She blinked against the tears that refused to be kept back, her voice shaky. “Thank you, Rose.”

And then the woman was gone, her tiny frame moving slowly back down the hallway from which they came, the ever growing number of voices pulling her back to her job as hostess. Tori followed, her thoughts traveling down a hallway she hadn’t literally walked in years to a place she visited every single day.

“Victoria,
there
you are.” Debbie appeared beside her right shoulder as she entered the kitchen, a few conversations stopping long enough to acknowledge her presence with a look if not a greeting. “Did you talk to Nina?”

Tori shook her head, dropping her voice to a level she hoped couldn’t be heard by anyone else. “Duwayne called in first thing this morning. Nina has laryngitis. She did a little too much screaming at the fair Saturday night.”

“Nina? Nina Morgan?” Debbie asked, her mock surprise a near perfect mimic of Tori’s earlier that day.

She laughed. “I know. Can you believe it? But she must be good at it, because her booth apparently earned over five hundred dollars for their church.”

Debbie stepped back a few feet and motioned Tori to follow her to the room where the circle would meet. “Okay, but you still need to talk to her.”

“I will. As soon as she’s back. If she can’t talk a whole lot, I’ll give her some paper and a pen.”

“Good idea.” Debbie glanced over her shoulder as they neared the noisiest part of Rose’s home. “By the way, I saw what you brought tonight. I want the recipe.”

“I think Margaret Louise has dibs.”

“Dibs?”

“Dibs . . . first crack at . . .”

Debbie’s eyebrows raised.

“She wants the recipe as well.” Tori bit back a laugh as Debbie finally nodded in understanding.

It never ceased to amaze her how different Sweet Briar was from anywhere she’d ever lived, especially Chicago. She hadn’t moved more than fifteen hundred miles yet it felt, sometimes, as if she’d crossed oceans and continents to get from one to the other.

It also made her miss Leona all over again. The woman’s desire to school Tori in southern ways the first few weeks was sorely needed. And truly missed.

At least by Tori anyway. Whether Leona had even bat-ted an eye over the situation was anyone’s guess.

Still, she was unprepared for the stiffened shoulders and tightened mouths that greeted her arrival in Rose’s sunroom. Somehow, amid the unexpected show of support from Rose and Debbie, she’d let her guard down, assumed the rest of the circle knew she wasn’t capable of murder as well. But she’d been wrong. One only had to see the looks that passed between Georgina, Leona, and Dixie to face that fact. Beatrice simply looked downward at the vest taking shape as the machine’s needle sped along, her discomfort at the situation virtually impossible to miss.

“Victoria, I’m surprised to see you here.” Georgina pulled her straw hat from her head and placed it on the floor beside her feet.

Rose pushed her way into the room, her hand grazing Tori’s arm as she passed. “I
told
her to come.”

A hint of betrayal shot across Dixie’s face as she worked her lips into a tightly closed circle.

“Come, Victoria, sit here . . . by me.” Rose slowly lowered herself onto a sofa covered in a bold floral pattern. “The light over here is quite good for detail work.”

“Shouldn’t you be at your home, where you can be watched?” Dixie finally asked.

“Where I can be watched? By whom?” Tori froze in her spot, her mind and body suddenly plagued by an overwhelming desire to bypass Rose’s invitation in favor of a tear-drenched sprint back to her own house.

“The police.”

“Daniel is on top of everything in this investigation,” Leona piped up, her perfectly manicured hand draped across the base of her neck, a magazine poised on her lap in lieu of the more popular sewing basket or latest project. “You should see him work, he’s so thorough.”

“Thorough?” Tori spat. “You think Investigator McGuire is thorough?”

Leona’s hand dropped to her lap as her voice grew indignant. “I most certainly do. He’s working on this investigation around the clock.”

“Is that why he’s had time to stroll around in front of the library every day this week? Or why I’ve seen him at the hardware store and the market simply hanging out, chatting up the staff and various customers about the weather and politics?” Tori tugged her tote bag up her arm, gripping it against her shoulder. “I think maybe he should spend less time wandering and more time actually investigating. Maybe then he’d actually have half a chance of solving Tiffany’s murder.”

By the time she was done with her rant there wasn’t a closed mouth in the room. Including her own. Only hers was draped open out of shock—at herself.

Georgina shifted in her seat, her hands clenching and unclenching the pair of slacks she’d pulled from her bag. Dixie’s mouth, while open, still managed to be twisted. And Leona—

“Daniel is not wandering aimlessly. There’s been a reason you’ve seen him in every place you have.” Leona yanked open the cover of her magazine then stopped to smooth the page with a gentle hand. “That man doesn’t have an aimless bone in his body.”

“That little tidbit might well qualify for what the kids refer to as”—Margaret Louise shot the index and middle fingers on both hands into the air and wiggled them up and down to indicate quotation marks—“too much information.”

Mouths gaped open once again.

“I mean, really, Twin, do we need to hear about the aim of this man’s various body parts?” A mischievous grin lit Margaret Louise’s face as she dug her elbow into Debbie’s side. “Get it? His
aim
?”

“I get it, Margaret Louise.” Debbie ducked her beet red face into her oversized canvas bag and pulled out the sign she’d been working on at each of the past two circles. “How about we focus on sewing for a little while, ladies? Leave the whodunit solving to the authorities?”

“And to a pair of Nancy Drew types like Victoria and myself.”

All eyes moved from Tori to Margaret Louise and back again.

“Nancy Drew types?” Georgina asked.

“That’s right.” Margaret Louise unrolled a piece of brown thread from a spool, the length extending farther and farther with each turn of her hand. “Since Investigator McGuire has failed to look for the truth, Victoria and I will. And we’ll find it.”

“That’s why we have police: it’s their job to solve the case,” Georgina said as she held a steadying hand against Leona’s magazine-holding hand. “Civilians getting involved will only slow the process.”

“Investigator McGuire getting in
his own
way only slows the process,” Tori corrected.

“I find that offensive,” Leona said, her cultured voice causing everyone to sit a little taller. “Daniel is working night and day to solve this crime.”