Sew Deadly (22 page)

Grabbing the stack of books Nina had gathered, Tori headed down the hallway toward her office, bypassing her door in favor of one across the hall. “C’mon everyone, there’s room for all of us.”

She stepped inside the former storage room, a spacious section of the building that was finally rid of the countless boxes and moldy books that had claimed the space for far too long, and waited for the others to follow. Sure enough, as each person made their way into the room, various
oohs
and
ahhs
invariably followed.

“James, did you know this room was so big?” Lincoln Porter asked his fellow board member.

“I had no idea. Did you, Winston?”

The board president studied the room, a look of genuine surprise spreading across his face. “I most certainly did not.”

As the remaining visitors found a place inside the room, Tori continued. “This room went unnoticed because of the countless storage boxes that were in here at any given time.” She pointed to her assistant. “Nina and I spent hours going through each and every box. What was salvageable has been put down in the basement for the sale and what wasn’t—due to neglect—was thrown away.”

“This is tremendous, Miss Sinclair.”

She nodded, her enthusiasm obviously spreading to the board. “The windows, although relatively small, provide a nice amount of natural light during the day and ensure that we won’t break any code violations by using this as an extension of the library.”

“What are your plans, Miss Sinclair?” Winston Hohlbrook prodded.

“I want to make this a children’s room—the kind of place that ignites a child’s love for reading by bringing books to life.”

“And you think you can do that for under five hundred bucks?” James Polk asked in obvious disbelief.

“Less than
four
hundred, actually.” Tori set the pile of books at her feet and opened the first one with one hand as she swept her free one across the wall behind where she stood. “Can’t you just see Cinderella’s castle on this wall right here? And Jack’s beanstalk over here?” She spun around and walked to the wall behind the board president. “And maybe Laura Ingalls’s house in the Big Woods right here?”

“Wouldn’t that kind of artwork cost a small fortune?” Investigator McGuire interjected.

“Not if
I
do it, it won’t.”

“You can do that kind of work, Miss Sinclair?” Lincoln Porter asked, surprise evident in his voice.

“With the help of an overhead projector—yes I can.”

“And where would you come up with the money this town would need to protect itself when we get slapped with a lawsuit over copyright infringement?” Dixie Dunn challenged with glee.

All eyes left the surrounding walls to focus on Tori.

“Miss Sinclair?” Winston prompted.

“My plan for bringing these scenes to life would not infringe on any copyrights whatsoever.” Tori met Dixie Dunn’s smug smile with one of her own before bringing the rest of her ideas to the crowd. “So other than some paint and some inexpensive carpet, there would be no expense.”

“We already have the books to fill the room,” Debbie Calhoun stated happily.

“We most certainly do. Our library has a wonderful collection of children’s books. This room would just enhance what we already have.”

“Do you have any other plans?” a man in the back asked.

Tori nodded. “I want to put together a trunk of dress-up clothes, outfits worn by the characters in many of the kids’ favorite books. You know, Red Riding Hood, Peter Pan, Cinderella, that kind of thing. In fact, we already have our very first costume thanks to Rose Winters.” She reached for the bag she’d placed in the room earlier in the day, unfolded the dress and bonnet for all to see. “I want the kids to be able to come in here—where they won’t be a disturbance to our other patrons—and act out their favorite scenes and, perhaps, create new ones.”

“Won’t those kind of costumes cost money?” Lincoln Porter asked as he took the costume from Tori’s hand and examined it closely.

She flashed a look at Rose and Debbie, saw the nod of encouragement from Margaret Louise. “No. It won’t. There is a group of women here in Sweet Briar who would love to sew the costumes for the library’s dress-up trunk. And their attention to detail will far exceed any store-bought costume we might find.”

“I could build a small stage right here,” a man said as he pointed to the very corner Tori had been envisioning for such an addition. “Free of charge.”

The board members converged in a small circle as the rest of the crowd talked amongst themselves about various mural and costume possibilities. Milo had been right. Letting people’s imaginations run free was far more powerful than any typewritten presentation could have ever been.

“Miss Sinclair?” Winston Hohlbrook and the other board members broke from their impromptu conference. “We have one question for you.”

“Anything.” She nibbled her lower lip inward as she stole a glance in Milo’s direction, his attention focused on the board president.

“How soon do you think you could have Sweet Briar Public Library’s very first children’s room up and running?”

“You mean—” She stopped as her mouth stretched into a smile too wide to stifle.

“You’ve got your room!” Winston bellowed proudly as he smacked his fellow members on the back. “Think we can see the finished product by next month?”

Inhaling deeply she skimmed the crowd, her gaze falling on Rose. “Think we can stock the trunk in four weeks?”

Rose looked at Tori over the rim of her glasses. “We can stock it in one.”

She glanced back at Milo. “Can I borrow your students’ artistic abilities on Friday?”

“You most certainly can.” He winked back.

She found Nina on the other side of the room. “Think you can tape this weekend?”

“I know I can,” her assistant said.

The man who’d volunteered to build the stage stepped forward. “I can build a suitable platform in just a couple of hours. And yeah, I’m free this weekend.”

Looking back at Winston Hohlbrook and the other two board members, Tori hugged the picture book to her chest and squared her shoulders. “It looks to me like we can host the grand opening of our new children’s room a week from Saturday.”

A smattering of applause broke out across the room as Tori made her way over to the board members.

“Very nice work, Miss Sinclair.”

“Thank you, Mr. Polk.”

“Victoria, this is exactly the kind of thing I saw in you during that very first interview.” Winston Hohlbrook extended his hand and shook hers firmly. “We’re so glad to have you on board.”

“A sentiment that will change when she’s unable to attend the grand opening,” Dixie said from her spot along the east wall.

Winston’s brows furrowed as he looked at Tori. “You won’t be able to attend?”

“Of course I will.” Tori shot Dixie a look of disbelief, unsure of where, exactly, the ex-librarian was going with her comments. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

“Being behind bars on murder charges might make your absence unavoidable.” Dixie waggled a finger at each board member, her tone morphing from mean to bitter in mere seconds. “But you wanted new and fresh, didn’t you?”

“Dixie!” Leona chided as she released her hold on the investigator’s arm and tugged the elderly woman backward. “That’s enough.” Turning to the man beside her, she gestured a hand in Tori’s direction. “Daniel
say
something. Please.”

The uniformed officer simply crossed his arms and shrugged. “I think Ms. Dunn did just fine on her own.”

Chapter 15

She sat on the floor and flipped through each and every drawing Milo’s students had done that morning. Jennifer’s castle was quite good—the turrets well drawn and the stained glass windows boasting an assortment of cheerful colors. Erin’s rendition of the dwarfs’ beds was precious, all seven boasting the peculiar name of its inhabitant. Quinton’s forest was amazing, his detailed trees as good as any adult could draw. His picture alone opened up a wide range of placement possibilities alongside any number of famous tales.

And then there was Lulu’s log cabin, a picture she’d slaved over from the moment Tori had explained what she needed and why. Logs were drawn and erased and drawn again, over and over, until they were perfected. The perfect color for Laura’s first home was agonized over in a careful head-to-head comparison of the many shades of brown in the crayon bin. But she’d finally gotten it the way she wanted, her picture proudly presented to Tori just moments before her class was scheduled to leave.

The pictures were everything she’d imagined and more, the students’ enthusiasm for the project something she wouldn’t forget anytime soon. Yet there she was, sitting on the floor, unable to make any headway on the wall—

“Something told me I’d find you here.” Milo tapped his knuckles against the open door. “How’s it going?”

“It’s not.” She leaned against the wall and lifted the stack of pictures into the air. “I’ve got all these amazing drawings and no way to get them onto the wall.”

“I thought you were going to use an overhead.” He stepped into the room, studied the freshly painted basecoat on each wall.

“I was.”

“Was?”

Nodding, she set the pictures on the ground by her knees and released the sigh that had been building inside her since she walked in the building ready to paint. “I brought the projector in here myself after lunch. I even stopped by the hardware store and bought a new extension cord. But now”—she gestured around the room—“it’s gone.”

“Why does this conversation seem familiar?” Milo asked, his lips tugging upward.

“Because we’ve had it before. About Popsicle sticks and pitch binders.”

“And lightbulbs. You can’t forget the lightbulbs.”

“As if.” She leaned her head against the wall and looked up at the ceiling, objectively considered the puffy white clouds she’d painstakingly painted the night before. “I swear I think someone is out to get me.”

“It sure seems that way.” Milo crossed the rest of the room and slid his back down the wall, claiming a resting place mere inches from her own. “I was really impressed with how you handled the board the other night. You made this place come alive.”

“Thanks.” She pulled her knees upward and rested her head atop them.

“And you didn’t let Dixie get to you even though she gave it her best shot.”

“Thanks.”

Milo scooted away from the wall, turning his body so they were facing one another. “And for the record, what she did at the end . . . what the investigator said . . . it was complete rubbish.”

“Rubbish?” Lifting her head, she met Milo’s gaze. “I haven’t heard that word since I was a little kid—watching
Sesame Street
.”

He shrugged. “Stick around here for a while and you’ll hear all sorts of expressions that’ll make you shake your head.”

“Oh, I already have. And they think
I
talk funny.”

“Well you do.” He ducked as she reached out and smacked his arm. “But it’s endearing.”

Endearing?

A flash of red lit his cheeks and she looked away, certain her own were no different. Milo Wentworth was a nice guy. A handsome guy. A great listener. A fun person to hang out—

“Did you ever ask Nina whether she saw Tiffany Ann that last day?” Milo cleared his throat as he grabbed hold of the stack of pictures and began looking through them as he waited for her response.

“I did. And she
did
come in here.” She lowered her knees a few inches and straightened her back. “She spent some time in the local section and apparently wasn’t a whole lot different here than as Emma at the bakery described her. Then after a while she got up, asked if she could go out the back door . . . said she wasn’t feeling well. And we know what happened then.”

He nodded as he pulled his favorites from the pile, his selections a perfect match to her own. “I see.”

“I asked Nina if she thought drugs were possible and she—”

“Drugs? Tiffany Ann? No way.”

“Why is everyone so sure that wasn’t the case?” she asked, the exasperation in her voice evident to her own ears.

“Because she was a good girl. A little misguided? Perhaps. Desperate for attention? Most definitely. But good at heart nonetheless. And besides, the traces were found in her coffee cup.” Milo stopped sifting through pictures and simply looked at her, his intense gaze far more comforting than unsettling.

“I know that. But couldn’t she have put it in there herself? You just said she craved attention. Maybe she simply misjudged the amount.”

“I don’t think anyone craves attention enough to mess with potassium cyanide.”

“Cyanide?” she asked, the pitch of her voice bordering on shrill. “Who said anything about cyanide?”

“Apparently the medical examiner. At least that’s what I’m hearing.”

She swallowed hard. “Okay, but couldn’t she have still tried?” She shook her head. “Scratch that. I know it sounds ridiculous. It’s just—I don’t know.”

He reached out, touched her arm, his warmth lingering along with his hand. “Hey. It’s okay. You’re tired of all eyes looking at you. I get that.”